City of Angels
by Von Jaeger
Summary: They were nameless men among the giants of the past. History, however, would emblazon their names as avatars of the gods and champions of the Great Movement of Bern. Forged in hatred, it was Elibe's darkest hour and created the greatest of heroes - from the mighty King Zephiel of Bern to the mysterious Mark of Etruria. It is a tale of souls and swords, eternally retold. Rated T.
1. Coming of the Storm

_On this day, May 19th 2011, this work comes to life. Ready yourselves for the journey you shall undertake. The gears of war move, the lords ready their knights, and the crows circle for the feast. _

_Prepare yourselves, ladies and gentlemen, for the City of Angels._

**_Permanent Disclaimer: I do not own, nor shall I ever own, Fire Emblem or any of the characters associated with it._**

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><p><strong>Coming of the Storm<strong>

_April 13__th__, 999 A.S. _

_Lycian Fields, Lycian League, Elibe_

"Too slow!" The iron spear jabbed forwards before it was deflected downwards. Edward stumbled forward with the motion, before putting his weight behind the movement. The butt of the lance shot to the left before it jabbed backwards, the oak staff connecting with the elder knight. The veteran paladin grunted as the end rammed into his breastplate before he backpedalled, pointing his own lance towards the younger knight. "You're improving on your reaction time. Good."

"When you learn from the best, you become the best." Edward smirked before readying himself once more, pointing the dulled tip towards his father. "Whenever you want."

The Caelin knight feinted forward before swiping low with the poled weapon, where it harshly knocked into Ed's grieve. The younger knight grunted against the pain before pressing forward, using the butt of his spear to swipe the other lance to his right; spinning the weapon under his right forearm, he grasped the lance at half-staff and swung to the right, the tip of the edge scraping audibly against the veteran's breastplate. The older man's eyes narrowed as he used his left arm to push the weapon away from him before using his right heel to trip his son.

Edward clattered to the ground in a rush before he grunted. The green armored knight plunged downward with his lance, his hands spread evenly over the shaft. Thinking quickly, Edward dropped his own lance before grasping the thrusting weapon with a gauntleted fist; he hand curled around the wood right behind the spearhead, yanking it down into the ground. Despite its blunt tip, the spear sunk into the damp ground with a soft squish. The paladin's eyes widened as he tried to yank his weapon from the soggy earth; as soon as he pulled his spear free, Edward's own weapon was at his torso, ready to plunge into his underbelly.

"I concede. You got me." Sain reached down with his right hand to help his son to his feet, who gratefully pulled himself up. "You've improved quite a bit Ed. I think working with some of the senior knights have helped your defense."

"I cannot hold a candle to how you were in your youth," Ed wiped his hands on his beige trousers, ridding his exposed fingers of the mud and dirt that he had accumulated from his short duel. "I can always climb higher."

"And now you're sounding like Kent!" Sain laughed as he walked over to where he had discarded his sword, attaching the scabbard to his belt. Fixing the positioning of his tassels, he smirked over at the pouting Edward. "It's good that you are so focused on your training. Don't forget to build a relationship with your comrades as well."

"Of course not." Edward watched as one of the larger men in the squad walked over to where the two had been training, a slight wetness noticeable on his brow. "Ah, Sir Stephen, well met."

"Well met, Edward." The bull of a man nodded to the younger knight before saluting the Green Lance, who nodded and smiled in return. "Commanduh Sain, I was wonderin' if ye would do the honor o' trainin' wit' me?"

"Ah, Stephen, I would, but I am no longer the best duelist in our camp anymore." Sain grinned as he nodded to his son, who sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "Edward is."

"Finally bested ye, did 'e?" Stephen roared in laughter at Sain's nod, a wide grin appearing behind his thick black beard. Edward shrugged at them as a slight red tinge took to his cheeks and ears. "Very well then. Edward, would ye train wit' me?"

"Of course. It would be an honor, Sir Stephen."

The young man started for the dulled iron spears before Stephen shook his head, gesturing to his horse, which grazed a short ways away. "No practice weapons, eh? Let us use our real lances."

Beckoning his horse over with a shrill whistle, Stephen reached over his saddle to pull out a large lance. He hefted his weapon of choice to his side, the heavy spear's tip glinting deadly in the moonlight. Walking over to his own horse, Edward unhooked the lance from the small hinge on the side of the saddle before twirling the lance in his hands. The lance's blade shone a deep red, looking as if it were stained with the blood of victims; although young, Edward's hands were tuned to the dance of the spear as they created a symphony of metal and flesh. Blessed with natural talent and a wonderful teacher, the green armored knight was a fearsome opponent, even at a young age.

Edward leveled the killer lance towards Stephen, who held his spear in a discipline unfamiliar to the knight. "At your ready."

The larger knight stepped forward before bringing his lance down in a vertical cut; Edward barely sidestepped the blow before another blow followed, this time horizontal. Ed held his lance straight and steady against the large spear, his shaft vertical and his hands spread evenly apart. Oak met oak with a loud bang as Edward's arms went numb from the contact. Spinning his lance, however, Edward swept aside Stephen's armor piercing spear before stabbing at his jaw.

The bearded man snapped his head back, grinning as the unusual spear thrust harmlessly over his face. Bringing his arm up, he snapped his left hand out and knocked the lance away, setting Edward off balance. Bringing his spear across once more, Stephen stepped forward with the blow, carrying himself with the momentum. The younger knight twisted his hips and shoulders, allowing the blade to miss his chest narrowly; Edward spun his lance in his right hand, narrowing his eyes as he focused on his opponent's movements.

Stephen reversed the motion before swiping at Edward's legs, who stepped over the attack. The younger knight brought his spear downward towards Stephen, who raised his lance horizontally to block the blow. The bearded man kicked upwards with his boot towards Edward's chest; the younger man spun to his left while swinging his spear with him. Stephen stepped his right foot back as he used the butt of the lance to swing the killer lance away from him, letting his own spear move to the left. Stephen let the motion continue before twisting his spear downwards, the momentum letting him speed the movement up. Rotating his shoulder, the heavy spear then moved upwards and into the air before it came down onto Edward's head. However, the crafty teenager used the top of his own lance to slow the momentum of the blow as the large point dug into the earth.

Edward's lance shot out from underneath the stuck spear as he swung at Stephen's left arm. The man wrenched his arm back, shoulders twisting with the motion, his right hand leaving the shaft of his spear for a slight moment. Edward quickly cut his motion as he used the head on his lance to flip the larger weapon out of the ground and away from Stephen. The crimson lance spun in a half-moon above Edward's head, who thrust the deadly weapon at Stephen's chest.

Stephen looked down in shock at the tip at his chest, his eyes wide. His heavy spear clattered to the ground a few feet in front of him, falling from its small toss in the air. The bearded man then chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Incredible."

Sain stepped forward and clapped his son on the back, a wide grin on his face. "See? I told you. It's like fighting one of the Eight Legends! There's no way you can get past his defense!"

"Maybes we should jus' stick ye on the fields in front o' Araphen and have Zephiel challenge ye." Stephen grinned at Edward's obvious embarrassment, taking advantage of the opportunity to poke fun of the teen.

"Please, you're embarrassing me," Edward smiled at Stephen, who laughed once more. A small group of knights, many of them recently knighted, began to make their way over to the pseudo-training ground, many of them chattering excitedly amongst themselves. "And it looks like many of the new pages are here."

Stephen glanced off the side with a frown as Sain simply looked towards the younger knights. The bearded man shook his head slowly as one of the knights pushed another over. "If only some o' them were as good as Thomas and yerself! Then I'd feel quite a bit bettuh about our chances!"

"Thomas claims there are some who show promise," Edward raised a hand in greeting, inviting a few of the knights over. At the head of the small group was a man with teal hair, garbed in a crimson suit of armor.

"Commander Sain! Sir Stephen! Edward!" Thomas chuckled in greeting as he met Edward's hand, shaking it briefly. A hand over his breastplate and a slight bow was given to the two senior knights. "Well met!"

"Ah, Thomas, good to see you." Sain nodded and grinned to the son of Kent, glad to see that he would be assisting them. Whenever he looked at his son and Thomas together, Sain couldn't help but be remembered of his time with Kent in Caelin. "I trust that you've been keeping up on your sword arm?" Much like the Crimson Shield and the Green Lance, their sons differed in technique and preference. Edward could match the lance arm of any knight whilst Thomas' skill with a blade was phenomenal.

"Of course, Commander Sain." Thomas nodded as he patted the steel sword at his side, nodding at the Green Lance, who nodded back.

"So, Commanduh," Stephen turned towards Sain, who looked at him with a blank look. Stephen's brown armor contrasted Sain's green as the man walked a bit closer to him. "How far do ye estimate Castle Araphen is?"

"I would say a three days' ride, Stephen." Sain walked over to where his pale white horse sat, grazing in the field. He grabbed the stallion's reins before leading it to where the small group was, petting its neck. "I believe I am going to consult with the mercenary captain. I recommend that you all get some rest."

"O' course, Commanduh." Stephen nodded and rapped his knuckles to his chest before turning to the two younger knights, a grin on his face. "So, ye two, we be passin' an' entering into what could be a large war. We'll be the first line of defense. What's yer thoughts on this?"

"I only wish that more of the marquises were like Steward Kent." Edward sat upon a tree stump that sat a few paces away, watching as the two other knights followed him. "My father stated that besides Lord Eliwood and Steward Kent, all of the Lycian Lords have sent only token forces."

"Pah," Stephen clenched a fist, "all o' these 'ere Lycian Lords are nothin' but lily-livered, turkey-belchin', horse-humpin' morons who only wan' to fill their pockets!" Stephen looked forward and pointed a finger at the two junior knights, frowning. "I tell ye two this: if ye ever have to save a knight or a noble, save a knight. The knight will protect ye…the noble will stab ye." Stephen stood and ambled off to the main part of camp, grumbling under his breath as he did so.

"You know," Thomas made sure the older knight was out of hearing range, "I think he fell a bit far from his rocker sometimes."

Edward chuckled slightly before shaking his head, "he may be a little rough on the edges, but he's a good man. Have a hard time understanding his accent at times, though."

"That's what you'll get when you have people from the Western Isles." Thomas shrugged before elbowing Edward with a grin, "hey, look there…"

"Look at what?"

"That." Thomas looked over at Edward and grinned; the slightly older knight sighed as he followed Thomas' finger. A short distance away, practicing with the rest of her mercenary troop, a female mercenary thrust her thin blade forward. Garbed in clothes that revealed a little too much skin for Edward's taste, the mercenary was a beauty.

"…you're like Father in his youth…" Edward frowned before shaking his head. Thomas simply shrugged and continued to stare until Edward stepped on his foot.

"The hell was that for?"

"Father is returning with a man. Pay attention."

The Green Lance was conversing with a red haired man, smiling more than a few times. The man was clearly a mercenary from his attire; various metal plates covered his torso and arms, protecting some of the most vulnerable parts of his body. The man wore an old and ragged purple jacket, frayed along the edges; the fabric was so worn that Edward believed it would rip easier than a fire tome! It obviously meant something to the man – even peasant clothes were in better condition than the jacket.

"Father," Edward nodded at his commander and the mercenary, "back so soon?"

"I wanted to introduce you to an old friend!" Sain grinned and gestured to the man, who looked on stoically, though with a hint of a smile. "Edward, Thomas, this is Raven. He and I fought together long ago."

"Well met, Sir Raven." Edward held out his hand, with a nod; Raven grasped his forearm with a simple nod of his head to both of the junior knights.

"This is your son, Sain?" Raven gestured to Edward as Sain nodded. "He's so much unlike you that it's…disturbing."

"His mother was just like him." Sain grinned before nudging Raven with his left arm. The redhead looked at the knight with a wry look on his face before sighing. "I hope you still have your sword arm."

"Hmph. You would think I would let my skills diminish?" Raven seemingly scowled, though by the way he laughed, Sain seemed to be unaffected by it. "Besides," Raven pointed to the various scars and nicks on his face, "I didn't get these by sleeping all my life."

"You have a point there, old friend." Sain smiled more calmly before turning to his son, patting him on the shoulder, "Edward, you're in charge of the first watch. Stephen shall be the second."

"Very well."

"Raven," Sain turned towards the elite mercenary, "make yourself at home in the camp. I know you said you were returning to Araphen from a job, so…"

"I shall." Raven nodded as his right hand gripped the blade at his side. Edward raised an eyebrow at the sword, frowning as he did so. The blade was a hand-and-a-half while possessing a dull blue hue; Edward recognized the description of the sword, but couldn't place where. "Thank you."

"Of course." Sain turned towards the two junior knights before knocking a fist against his breastplate. "See you two tomorrow."

"Good night Commander."

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><p><em>April 14<em>_th__, 999 A.S._

The sun drifted into the large bedchamber, illuminating the corners of the room. Against the rays of light, dust moved lazily throughout the air, picked up by the occasional movement of a visitor to the sick man. The marquis coughed harshly once or twice before falling back to the pillows, groaning softly. A soft knock at the door caused the fiery haired ruler to look up wearily, clearing his throat as he did so. "Enter."

An aged knight, a veteran of many battles, entered, bowing as he did so. His blonde hair was white at his temples as a deep furrow ran across his brow; he moved stiffly across the room, his leg dragging ever so slightly against the soft carpet. Nonetheless, Harken of Pherae did not show any sign of discomfort as he approached his lord of twenty years. "Lord Eliwood…how are you feeling this morning?"

"Rather lousy and tired, I shall admit." Despite his illness, Eliwood awoke each morning like he had since the end of the Campaign of Fire; as he advanced in age, it was harder for him to stay as late, yet he always managed to wake up at dawn. "How about you, my old friend?"

"Please, milord, worry about yourself not me." The look Eliwood gave Harken, however, forced him into submission; Eliwood may have been one of the most benevolent leaders in Pheraen history, yet he was capable of getting what he wanted! "Sore, as ever."

It was true, of course. While age seemed to have not touched some of the vassals of Pherae, Isadora in particular, Father Time seemed to have vengeance on Harken. His hair was peppered with gray and white while various lines crossed his face. Married to Isadora after the Campaign of Fire, Harken's old injuries seemed to catch up with him. His joints suffered from the stress of battle, his bones weakening with time. However, with every stab of pain, Harken refused to leave his post as a senior knight, believing that his pain was a small price compared to his failure of Elbert.

"I am sorry to hear about that. Maybe I shall have Lowen create a grand meal to fill our bellies so we do not focus on our maladies?" Eliwood gave a wry grin to Harken, who smiled softly in return.

"I believe…" Harken watched as a sparrow settled on the sill outside of the window, chirping happily in the morning sun. "That would be excellent Lord. Do you feel as if you could join us this evening?"

"We shall see, Harken." Eliwood looked out wistfully to the sparrow, who fed a few chicks in its nest; a few weeks back, the sparrow had created a nest on the sill, much to Eliwood amusement. Declining a servant's offer to rid the window of the birds, Eliwood watched the mother feed her chicks daily. "Have you seen Lilina today? She's typically here at the rising of the sun."

"I believe she was by Master Roy's room, my lord."

Eliwood chuckled softly before a small cough wracked his body. He groaned softly before eyeing Harken with kind, yet wise, eyes. "It's like watching Florina with Hector all over again, isn't it?"

Harken blinked. "I…do not understand Lord Eliwood."

Eliwood gestured to the door, likely indicating his son's room which was a small walk away. "Remember how Florina was with Hector, during – and after – our journey?" Eliwood always seemed to speak fondly of those times, especially recently. Harken suspected it was due to the illness.

"I remember how Lady Florina would consistently be near Lord Hector, yet never with him." Harken allowed a small smile to grace his face, remembering how the meek knight would follow the Ostian lord around. "It could be…rather humorous at times, I shall admit."

"Lilina seems to be taking after her mother in that regard…" Eliwood smiled before looking to the canvassed portrait in the corner. Harken followed Eliwood's eyes with an understanding look; it was no secret that as Roy got older and studied in Ostia, Eliwood increasingly wished for his wife. "And Roy seems to be following Hector's example!"

Harken grinned as a small knock followed at the door. Turning, he watched as Eliwood gestured for him to open it; at the now-open frame, a teen stood, blue locks flowing over her shoulders. A red hair band threaded through her hair, comparable in color to her clothes; as always, Lilina wore a cheerful expression on her face, one that belied her perceptiveness. "Lady Lilina." Harken grinned as she nodded at him. "It's good to see you. Lord Eliwood," Harken turned and bowed to his lord, who bid him off with a hand wave.

"Ah…Lilina. You're uncharacteristically late today." Eliwood smiled as she shut the door behind her.

The heir of Ostia cringed as she pulled a glass vial into view, sheepishly smiling to her father's greatest friend. "I'm sorry Uncle Eliwood. I was immersed in a book and lost track of time."

"Oh?" Eliwood grimaced as Lilina handed him the vial. Steeling himself to swallow the vile tasting medicine, he tipped the small glass in the air before swallowing the contents. Making a face, he handed the vial back to Lilina. "Ugh. It's almost like doctors create medicine just to torture your tongue!"

"Uncle Eliwood," the red haired lord looked up, "I was wondering…i-if you could tell me something."

"Of course child." Eliwood smiled that kind smile of his, gesturing to a chair that sat near the bed. "Sit. Now, what is it that you wanted to ask?"

Lilina fidgeted with the hem of her shirt for a moment before a reassuring look from her father's greatest friend calmed her to speak. "Do you know what my mother was like?"

Eliwood blinked, surprised and unawares. "Where did this come from?"

"W-Well…I remember Roy talking of his mother – your wife – once and…I've never known mine. I've never asked Father, because he always seems so sad when I speak of her. So I was wondering if you knew her…"

To her surprise, Eliwood smiled as he patted her hand. "I knew your mother well, Lilina. She travelled with your father and I on a campaign some years prior. She was…" Eliwood chuckled softly before a short cough followed. Lilina couldn't help but smile at Eliwood's mood change. "She was surprisingly very meek. I'm sure your father told you how she was a knight, yes?"

"Yes." Lilina nodded, smiling as Eliwood's hand tightened over hers. "He said she rode a pegasus through the skies."

"That she did." Eliwood graoned softly as he adjusted himself on the large bed, propping himself up against the pillows. "The first time your father met your mother, she had fallen out of the sky." At Lilina's horrified look, he smiled. "An arrow, I believe, spooked her and caused her to fall. Your father, being the absolute bear of a man that he still is, caught her safely…and her pegasus."

Lilina giggled for a moment as the sparrow outside the window chirped rather loudly. "I remember him saying something about catching a falling horse…I've never believed him, but now that you're saying it Uncle Eliwood…"

"Oh," Eliwood sat up, a boyish youthfulness returning to his body as he recalled fond memories, "it was rather humorous, I won't lie! After this, your mother consistently wished to thank your father, but she was so afraid of him – Hector was always intimidating and rash at times – that she would just follow him around!" Eliwood grinned and laughed loudly, remembering old faces and friends that had since passed on or disappeared from his life. "It was enjoyable to see the two of them together; your mother always quiet and respectful, your father loud and rambunctious. I will say though, Lilina," Eliwood looked over to the girl, who wore a smile on her face, "your mother was one of the greatest and most gentle souls I've ever known."

"She died when I was three, so I don't remember anything about her…" Lilina looked down in sadness before smiling and looking at Eliwood. "But if she made so many people happy, than I'm sure she was a great woman."

Eliwood looked outside to the sparrow, who was flying away to search for more food. The chirping of the chicks could be heard as they begged for more food and for their mother's warmth. The Lord of Pherae frowned then, nodding slowly. "Yes…she was."

* * *

><p>"I gotta say," Stephen grinned over to Thomas and Edward, who rode beside him, "tha' I cannot wait to get to Araphen! Fine ale, beautiful women, an' some o' the best fabrics 'round!"<p>

"I don't know about fabrics or ale," Thomas chuckled as Edward glared, "but I would like me a nice lady to keep me company!"

"You're terrible." Edward shook his head and couldn't help but laugh at the two men; Stephen had always been known as a fierce warrior but his code of chivalry was far from the norm!

"You're just jealous."

Edward shook his head once more before raising a hand in greeting as Raven walked alongside the horses. "Sir Raven! Well met."

"Well met Edward. And I'm not a knight; there's no need to call me 'sir'."

"Master Raven?"

"Just Raven is fine," a slight ghost of a smile appeared on his face as he looked straight ahead.

"Very well then." Edward adjusted himself on his horse, patting the animal on the neck as he did so, "where are you returning to, Raven?"

"A small orphanage outside of Araphen." At Edward's questioning look, he shrugged a single shoulder. "An old friend of mine, and your father's, lives there."

"How far is this orphanage from Araphen?"

"A short day's ride." Raven smiled slightly before his hard eyes looked up to Edward briefly. "If we double our speed, we could reach it in a few candlemarks."

"Then," Sain looked back from the front, speaking softly so as to not make the rest of the Caelin knights aware of their conversation. "Perhaps you should take a horse, Raven."

"There's no need. I'll simply reach the orphanage tomorrow morning."

"Nonsense." Sain turned his shoulders in the saddle, looking over his right shoulder. "I'm sure one of our knights would be fine in walking. Besides…I haven't sent a messenger to Lord Hector."

"Surely, you don't mean to send me?" Raven looked incredulously at Sain, who grinned quickly before fixing his face at the scowl that followed.

"No. I was going to send a few knights to accompany you to the orphanage; they could then go to Araphen and tell Lord Hector of our approach." At Raven's hesitance, Sain yelled out to the back of the ranks. "Whomever dismounts their horse and hands their reins to me first gets rations and a half tonight!"

The Knight Commander of Caelin was met with the reins of a younger knight, who was only a few years older than Edward. Ed chuckled as he saw his father declare, in a rather loud voice, that the knight would receive extra rations that evening. Sain led the sorrel horse to Raven, who shrugged then mounted it. "Thank you."

"Of course." Sain turned to Edward, eyeing the lance that hung at his saddle, "Edward, take a man with you and escort Raven to the orphanage. You are to report to Lord Hector as soon as possible. Tell him that Caelin is arriving with two score of cavalry and three score archers."

"Yes, sir." Edward nodded before turning to his companion, steering his black horse to Raven, "Thomas, wou-."

"Absolutely." Thomas moved forward as Raven started to ride ahead of the company. Edward moved his own horse, named Shadowless, beside the elite mercenary, never speaking.

The ride was long, quiet, and scenic. Words were not spared as they travelled, savoring the woods and plains around them; Raven had chosen a straightforward yet difficult ride that traversed over many hills and slopes, causing certain the trek to be rather bumpy and rough. However, when they drew upon a rustic red-roofed orphanage, Edward felt as if the ride had been worth it.

During the times of late, where battles were waged and wars proclaimed, bandits and soldiers pillaged and looted villages and homes, taking all valuables within. With many of the men conscripted to fight in professional armies, while others served as mercenaries, these vulgar and unscrupulous men seized the opportunities presented. With the exception of Bern, and perhaps Etruria, bandit raids and attacks became all too common throughout the countryside and even in some relatively urban areas. While some raids were of lesser value – a few crops burned and some treasure plundered – others left entire communities on their knees, or in some cases, buried and razed. On those occasions, lives are lost, homes are burned, and children are sold or left behind to live on their own.

However, salvation came for those children unfortunate enough to lose their parents. The Elimine Church, a staple of Elibean society, worked without end to bring peace to their faithful. Their devotion to this cause was exemplified by the numerous amount of orphanages and shelters being built across Ilia, Lycia, and Etruria. Inside those orphanages, wayward children were taught basic literacy skills, work ethic, and a faith in God; however, for all their talk of devotion to the poor, certain orphanages received much more in the way of funds than others did.

The small orphanage on the outskirts of Araphen was one of those unlucky ones. Although situated by one of the richest cities in Elibe, the greedy policies of Marquis Araphen and relative obscurity doomed the orphanage to poverty. Despite the weather-worn wood and tired fencing, the orphanage flourished with happiness and contentment. As the two Caelin knights and the mercenary rode into sight of the orphanage, a dozen or so children came into sight, under the scrutiny of a few older children.

At the sight of the three mounted warriors, a few of the children watched as they nervously approached their home. At the sight of the crimson-haired mercenary, however, they relaxed as some of the children rushed towards Raven. The elite swordsman smiled narrowly and patted a few on the head before dismounting, tying his horse to a fencepost.

"Mister Raven," the mercenary and two knights watched as a green haired teen approached the veteran, "are you looking for Father Lucius?"

Raven nodded before smiling softly, "yes, Lugh. Can you tell me where he is?"

The teen nodded before gesturing to the back, past the small crowd of children. Edward noted that he carried a book in his hands; a mage's novice robe was tied around his neck, giving the knight an impression that the teen practiced magic of some sort. The boy was one of the oldest orphans visible, standing at least a head taller than the rest. "I believe he is in the garden. I'll fetch him for you."

Raven turned towards the two knights, "Lucius will likely wish to meet you both, due to who your fathers are. Besides, Araphen's gates will close by dark; you won't be able to get into the city."

"Hrm." Edward sighed before dismounting Shadowless, who nickered as its master tied it to a tree. Thomas dismounted as well, tying his horse to the same tree; the two horses were similar to their masters in respect to one another. "This is true. I did not expect that the ride would take so long."

"Look at it this way," Raven watched as his old friend walked towards the three, "you are a day ahead of your father. Even more if you leave in the morning at the pace we set today."

"Lord Raymond. It is good to see you unharmed and safe." Lucius smiled a serene smile as he approached the three warriors. Raven's face did not change at the use of his real name - he had long grown accustomed to the man's use of it.

Much like Sain, Lucius' appearance did not change greatly. Years drew lines near the corners of his eyes and lips, yet the gentle aura around the monk never changed. Although offered many times to move throughout the ranks of the church, the simple man refused to advance. Instead, he preferred the humble orphanage outside of Araphen, choosing to do God's work by protecting his flock and raising them to be pious men and women. Many opined that the monk would be honored for his work at some point, as the man was considered to be one of the most humble bishops to have walked Elibe.

"Lucius," Raven nodded, a hint of a smile falling on his lips. He patted a small bag on his hip, releasing it from his belt as he gave it to Lucius. "I brought these, just as you were wishing for."

Lucius nearly opened the bag before noticing the two junior knights for the first time. An inquisitive, yet kind, look drew on his face as he smiled at the two knights. "Oh, forgive me. I did not notice you – how rude of me. I am Father Lucius. And you are…?"

"I am Edward, knight of Caelin." He rapped his fist to his chest in greeting.

"Thomas, a knight of Caelin as well, Your Excellence," Thomas did likewise, a soft smile on his face. The younger knight was more pious than his brother-in-arms, the church holding a special place in his heart.

"They're the sons of Sain and Kent, respectively."

Lucius' eyebrows went up at that as his smile widened. Like many of the former army, Lucius had only kept in touch with those he was closest with. Raven and Priscilla were the only two he corresponded with frequently, though Raven was the only one he talked to personally – the only way he could contact Countess Caerleon was by letter. If only Araphen were not so far from Etruria! "Well, if they are the sons of my old friends, then they are my friends as well!" Lucius smiled before opening the bag that Raven had given him, "ah. Lord Raymond, these herbs are…very uncommon."

"Of course. If memory serves, they improve the quality of the soil." Raven picked a blade of grass from the ground and started to curl it around his fingers. "It should improve your garden."

"This is most appreciated, Lord Raymond." Lucius smiled as a young girl cautiously walked up to him and offered the monk a necklace made of flowers. The monk gratefully took the necklace and placed it around his neck, granting the girl a kind smile. "Our garden is our life – if it fails, then we shall not eat."

"Do you have salt, Father?"

Lucius looked to Edward before nodding slowly. "Yes. It is one of the few things that we do have."

Tapping his companion's breast, Edward smiled softly, "if you would desire, Thomas and I could hunt you down some game. If we bag something, you could salt it down to keep it."

"I do have some throwing javelins," Thomas nodded towards his horse, "it wouldn't be long."

"That would be…excellent, Sir Edward." Lucius smiled quickly before frowning, glancing towards the woods with a forlorn look. "Ah, but I do not want to risk a Bern soldier attacking you in the woods. That forest is particularly dark at night. I've lost a few of my children there before – it took many candlemarks to find them."

"Do not worry, Father," Thomas patted the sword at his waist, "we weren't made knights of Caelin for nothing. Should any Bern men move this far by Araphen, they're foolish anyways. And if that's the case..." the young man let his voice drift off, not needing to finish.

Lucius contemplated this before nodding slowly; if it had been any other men, he would have declined! However, after fighting alongside such knights as Kent and Sain, any offspring they bore would be more than proficient to protect themselves. "Very well then, child. God bless thee and bless your hunt."

The two did not leave immediately, however; after talking with Thomas for a moment, the knights decided to discard some of their less necessary armor. Leaving their torso s protecting only by their breastplate, the two knights set off into the woods. Splitting away from one another, the two agreed to return shortly after sundown. As he waited by a tree, lance in hand, Edward felt at peace. Controlling his breathing as much as he could, the knight was still until a large rabbit made its way by him. Taking a deep breath, he let loose with the projectile, smiling slightly as he watched it connect. Although he felt guilty for killing such a beautiful creature, he realized that the need to eat won over his humanitarian side. He took comfort in the fact that the animal did not suffer much - the javelin had likely went through its spine, rendering unable to feel any pain.

As Edward held the rabbit in front of him, he watched as the sun disappeared behind the landscape. Although he had hoped to bag game larger than a measly rabbit, he would take what he could get; he likely could have gotten deer had he more time, but time was of the essence. Judging by Father Lucius' demeanor, the man would likely be immensely grateful for anything he brought back!

_'Though,'_ the young man thought as he set off towards the orphanage, _'I hope Thomas got more than this. I'm hungry tonight.'_

* * *

><p>Guinevere sighed as she watched the wax from the candle drip off onto the brass dish. The flame danced lazily as the shadows cast from it played on the wall, whipping back and forth as the small fire moved. Despite the size of her personal chamber, this was the only light allowed; the Princess of Bern had ordered her servant, Ellen to wait by the door silently, in order to ward off any nosy knights or vassals.<p>

Though the Elimine Church flourished across Elibe, it played a secondary role in the militaristic nation of Bern. Those who joined the priesthood were often third or fourth son of a family; typically, the first inherited the land and mansion while the second often enlisted in the Bern army. The church also attracted those men who were inadequate for the demands of the military; however, Ellen was one of the few who readily participated in the church by choice, rather than need.

Perhaps due to her introspective and respectful nature, Ellen was the preferred companion of Guinevere. The two young women found a mutual respect for one another due to common interests; the women could often be found spending their time in the royal libraries, fostering their want for knowledge and literature. This close bond was a large reason why Guinevere had trusted Ellen – and not her bodyguard Miledy – to her peace plans.

"My Lady," Ellen looked over from where she was standing to her charge, "when shall it burn out?"

Guinevere shrugged a shoulder before eyeing the candle with a kind but intelligent eye. "I'd say in a few more moments." The princess was silent for a minute before she turned in her chair to Ellen, who looked up. "Master Orer kept trying to keep me occupied throughout the day."

This piqued the cleric's interest immensely, causing her to frown. She chose her words carefully, taking caution in the chance they were being overheard. "Oh? What do you think he wanted, My Lady?"

"I believe he wanted to keep me busy. I think he wanted to make sure I didn't do anything." Guinevere stood and walked to her drawer, pulling out a small brown bag. "I didn't mind. Master Orer is interesting, at any rate."

Surprisingly, this was true. Orer had served as the royal advisor to Zephiel for over seventeen years; introduced to the then-prince as a teacher, the man had lectured on politics, tactics, and strategy, cultivating Zephiel's talents for many years. Upon his ascension to the throne, Zephiel appointed Orer as his prime minister and royal advisor, giving him near unlimited power, under only Zephiel himself. While the king was away from Bern campaigning, Orer controlled all domestic policies – which wasn't a large change, due to many of Zephiel's decisions being influenced by Orer.

The wise and old minister had taught the greatest of Bern's figures. Dragon General Brunya, Princess Guinevere, and King Zephiel had been lectured by the man, fostering a camaraderie and trust between the few who were lucky enough to be taught by Orer. Despite this, however, most of Orer's efforts were to bringing Zephiel's talents to fruition; upon Zephiel's ascension, the prime minister had urged the king to stay silent and still until the right time. All of Elibe had believed the new king to be just and chivalrous; when Orer unleashed the beast of Bern upon the world, it caught the rest of the world by surprise, leaving them vulnerable to attack.

Despite his prowess of mind, the man never won the princess over to his visions of Bern glory by might. Guinevere had always preferred battle of the tongues to battle of the blades, and it was this reason that the princess had a slight falling out from the rest of the Bern hierarchy – it was no secret that the biggest internal critic of Bern's current actions was the presumed heir. It was likely only Zephiel's love for his sister, or former love, and popularity that kept her alive day to day. However, not even popularity could keep Guinevere alive if her plans were discovered: what she was doing was textbook treason, through and through.

It was this reason that Guinevere had only Ellen by her side. As the slow night dragged on, their nerves slowly started to fray; their plan was wearing down on them, despite their belief in it. It wasn't until Ellen stuck her head out and confirmed the absence of life in the grand halls that Guinevere let out a relieved sigh. Slipping the brown pouch into her brassiere, she gracefully crossed her bedchambers, grasping Ellen's hand as she did so.

"Milady," Ellen was ushered along by her charge swiftly, "I managed to secure the loyalty of woodcutter in the mountains." Her voice was hushed as they moved down the hallway, their footsteps muffled against the lush rugs and carpets present. At Guinevere's warning look, the cleric quieted herself until they were exited of Bern city. As soon as they were within the large forests outside of Bern, Ellen turned to her lady. "This woodcutter is an experienced veteran, it seems. He has promised us safe passage to the Lycian border once we rendezvous with him."

"Very good Ellen." Guinevere smiled as the two women moved silently through the forest, their hearts and minds much lighter now that one of the most difficult tasks was over.

Unbeknownst to the Bern women, however, a pair of gray eyes watched them leave. They watched as the women exited the might Castle Bern, unblinking against the stale air of his work chamber. He stared at the two until they vanished out of sight in the vast city of Bern; at this, he turned on his heel and sat in a large oaken chair, pondering the events that had transpired.

* * *

><p><em>April 16<em>_th__, 999 A.S._

_Somewhere Within Bern_

_I daresay that I feel guilty. Yes, I know, it's hard to believe that a strategist – of all people – will be guilty. However, despite ordering the deaths of scores of men, I feel more guilty for breaking a promise than being responsible for those many deaths. I think my time in exile has made me slightly soft – I think I shall blame Legault for this._

_I must say that despite the peacefulness that is presented here, the lack of connection to the rest of Elibe has wracked my nerves more than a bit. I have been receiving information more than a week after it has occurred, and, due to my profession, this has left me quite irritated. I believe Legault sensed my irritation for he has started to use his many contacts to get detailed information faster so I would not feel so out of the loop. I suppose I shall commend him for his efforts._

_This last bit of information is the most troubling to me, I believe. After finding out that Bern had attacked Sacae, I half-expected the plains nation to fall quickly. Even less so once I found out that Murdock had attacked Ilia. But news that my beloved Lycia, though not the land of my birth, is under attack has me worried ill. I feel slightly better knowing that Hector is leading the defense, but that was countered by word of Eliwood's sickness. To think that Lycia would be conquered…the last time I have felt this helpless was when I learned that Lyndis had passed due to sickness. Unlike last time though, I have no wish to stand at another vigil…Lyn's pyre stands alive in my mind and I do not wish for another. _

Mark looked up from his worn journal to find that Legault was peering over his shoulder. Casting an annoyed look at the man, Mark shoved the book into the small desk he occupied, causing Legault to chuckle. "Do I stand there and watch you engage with Heath?"

Legault looked around for a moment before nodding slowly. "Well, if you count that one time…"

"You two were on top of _my bed! _That _hardly _counts!" Mark shook his head before pulling the moss green cloak closer to him. Despite the late spring, the southwestern mountains of Bern always possessed a certain chill to them, due to their proximity to the sea. "But you reading over my shoulder while I'm writing is like me sitting and watching you engage intimately."

"I don't have a problem with that. Heath might, but…" Legault grinned as Mark made a face; although the two men had been close friends for thirteen years, there were certain things you didn't do to the master tactician.

"I'll pass Legault, thanks." Mark shifted in his seat to look at the former assassin.

The sight that awaited him was one of age and difficulty. Despite their recent years being rather peaceful, time had been unforgiving to the Black Fang assassin. Time and swords had left their mark on his body, rendering him unable to fight due to old injuries and weakening joints. Despite this, Legault retained his youthful personality, doing all things he used to – just slightly slower and at a more relaxed pace.

"Suit yourself." Legault sat in the chair that accompanied Mark's, spreading out comfortably as he did so. Unlike Legault and Heath's residence, Mark's was one of simplicity and emptiness, sacrificing luxury for functionality.

Despite Mark's love of learning, there were only five books within his home: three personal journals, a detailed history of the Campaign of Fire, and Mark's manuscripts on war. Mark considered the last, in particular, to be his greatest and most prized work; it was a large manuscript of military tactics, comprised of everything Mark knew: stratagems, sortie formations, and siege tactics. The part Legault found most interesting, however, was the section on the different castles of Elibe; within the section, Mark went through great detail on how to capture or defend each and every major castle on the Elibe continent.

The rest of Mark's home was decorated with an assortment of items. Maps lined the walls, overlapping in many cases; detailed grid lines were drawn along with possible moves that could be made. The map Mark had used in the Campaign of Fire was framed above his desk, serving as a constant reminder of where he had come from.

The only source of entertainment, aside from the maps and his books, were Mark's chess sets. In the village, it was common knowledge that Mark loved the game of wits; everyday, Mark would play against a different opponent, relishing the chance to face a new rival. Despite his relative fame as a chess master, however, Mark remained in the shadows – only Heath and Legault knew of Mark's true identity and the tactician preferred it that way.

"Where is Heath anyways?" Mark's voice shook Legault out of his slightly reverie. The strategist had moved from his desk to his small bed, sitting cross legged on the mattress. "I haven't seen him all day."

"I believe he is securing rations."

"Rations?" Mark raised an eyebrow at this. "Why would he need rations?" The former tactician had lived with the two outlaws for over thirteen years and never had they not informed him of something – for Heath to leave without informing Mark was something new.

"He doesn't," Legault flipped his whitening hair over his shoulder, "but you do."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb Mark." Legault sniffed as he cracked his back, gasping slightly as he did so: even Mark could clearly hear individual vertebrae pop. "You, Heath, and I all know that you're going to Lycia. You're not going to let something like this happen to Lycia."

Mark held a finger up in the air, his other hand running through his brown hair. "I let it happen to Ilia and Sacae, did I not?"

"No." Legault shook his head to Mark's surprise. "There was no possible way you could have led them to victory. Sacae was too fragmented and too weak while Ilia was too far away. However, Lycia is strong enough that she can win; you know this and Heath and I both know you're going to go there."

Mark was silent for a few moments before looking towards the former Black Fang member. Although many saw Legault as a happy-go-lucky slacker, Mark had come to know the man as someone with great insight and a good understanding of the world. "Damn. I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am." Legault grinned before he leaned forward, a frown setting on his face. "Honestly, Mark, you need to go. As much as I dislike war, you need to lead Lycia. From what I've been told, well over seventy-five score men are marching on Araphen…Hector is a great and mighty warrior and leader, but even this may be too much."

"Seventy-five score…? I wasn't aware that Bern was capable of fielding so many people after their conquests…" Mark sighed before nodding, resignation coming over his features. As much as he detested death, the man knew that death accompanied his trade – something he had begrudgingly accepted in his first assignment after the Campaign of Fire.

"Well, now you are aware." Legault absent-mindedly twirled a strand of hair around his finger. "Heath should be returning soon. When he does, he'll take you to Pherae…Mark, you know you must do this."

Mark looked down at his hands. His hands had led to the death of hundreds, if not thousands; despite that, he knew he would be leading a righteous cause. Mark forced himself not to chuckle. How ironic was it that a butcher would be leading champions? "Yes, Legault," Mark nodded slowly, "I know I must. And so…I guess I shall go to Pherae."

'_Hector, my friend…it seems as if I shall hold my promise. Wait just a little longer.'_

* * *

><p><em>Note. Be aware that this chapter is a rewrite in an attempt to make Edward seem a little less experienced than he is, as well as to include Thomas more. <em>


	2. Falling Skies

**Falling Skies**

_April 18__th__, 999 A.S. _

_Castle Araphen, Lycian League, Elibe_

A proud golden lion, back by regal blue and a silver axe, fluttered gaily in the breeze that drifted over Castle Araphen. For the first time in over five hundred years, Castle Araphen was armed to defend from outside Lycia and not from within. Armed to the teeth, the castle was filled to the brim with professional soldiers, militia, and mercenaries, all ready to protect their fair land from Bern. As if by fate, the proud Ostian lion faced east, claws raised to seemingly deter the massive horde that threatened to swallow the castle whole.

It was this horde that had forced Hector to play his hand. Sensing that Lycia would be under attack, the Ostian Lord summoned the Lycian Lords from all across Lycia to Araphen. Bound to ancient pacts made by their ancestors, the lords were required to rally their retainers and their peoples in order to provide for the common defense of Lycia.

Lord Hector, as head of the Lycian League, arrived to Araphen first, bringing seven score of Ostia's finest armor knights. Three score of Thrian footmen arrived shortly after; Sir Paris, son of Orun, led the force into Araphen at the insistence of his father, who pled illness. The Marquises of Worde, Ryerde, and Kathelet arrived all within the span of a few days, bringing with them a combined five score of men-at-arms. Steward Kent, who held dominion over Caelin, sent forty light cavalry and sixty archers, making one of the largest contributions to Lycia's defense. Marquises Arlon and Brient, of Santaruz and Tuscany respectively, arrived last; Marquis Arlon brought three dozen axmen, a score of archers, and a wagon of supplies, while Marquis Brient arrived with four dozen spearmen and five wagons of food.

Combined with Araphen's four dozen soldiers, Lycia was capable of fielding half a thousand men. However, even despite the impressive number, Hector knew they were capable of fielding double that. The part that bothered the Ostian Lord most, however, was their lack of heavy cavalry; without the attendance of Pherae or Laus, Lycia's mounted division was sorely lacking. Laus, as evidenced many times in their treacherous and warring past, was able to field a stout number of horsemen; despite Pherae's eclipsing of their skill and courage, Laus' mounted knights were a force to be reckoned with.

Without the two Lycian states, however, Hector knew their chances were rather bleak. As befitting the greatest military power on Elibe, their enemy was the Kingdom of Bern. The mountainous nation was capable of fielding over five thousand professional soldiers at one time; although the likelihood of such a number appearing at Araphen was small, it did not allay Hector's fears. While Bern could throw one large army after another at Lycia, the defenders were not capable of such a feat; whatever they gave Bern now was as good as they could give.

The sound of iron plates knocking against one another caused Hector to turn. Standing before him was one of his most loyal retainers, clad in full plate mail. Though graying and noticeably older, Oswin of Ostia had refused to hang his lance; preferring to stand by his lord in Hector's time of need, the old general had come with Hector as commander of the vaunted Ostian Steel Guard, lending his mighty skills once more.

Hector nodded to the knight, eyeing him with a tired look. "Oswin."

The aged general rapped a fist to his breastplate with a soft sound, bowing his head slightly as he did so. "Lord Hector; well met."

"We've been well met several times throughout the day, Oswin." Hector allowed a ghost of a grin to show through his bushy beard before a hard look replaced the small amount of merriment. "If you're here, then that means someone wants me."

"Unfortunately, yes, milord." Oswin walked beside Hector before sighing; never before had he experienced such a disjointed and disunified campaign – even the Campaign of Fire, though far from formal, had been unified in their goal! "The lords wish to sit in a council with you."

"Bah," Hector snorted, clenching an armored fist, "I'm sure they just want to get under my skin." Hector stood still for a moment before running a hand through his beard. "Oswin," the veteran knight looked up, "tell the council that I am currently attending to _duties _that are _above _their council. Tell them that once I am done with my duties…I shall join them."

Oswin suppressed the urge to sigh at this; despite serving Hector for over twenty years, the older man still found himself irritated at his lord's impetuousness at times. "Lord Hector…I am not sure that is…wise."

"Wise? Anything that involves them," Hector jerked a thumb to the grand hall where the lords met, "is not wise. Oswin, I may assault or maybe even kill one of them the next time one of them worries about their 'precious holdings'. Hell, the only two who are bearable are Paris and Arlon."

Oswin nodded knowingly, understanding the younger man's sentiments. Despite the other lords technically being his peers, all within the council knew that Hector single-handedly controlled Lycia; while Hector reigned as a fair lord with open ears, it was well known that he detested the pomp and posture of most of the other Lycian Lords. As far as Oswin knew, only Marquises Arlon and, obviously, Eliwood were the only two marquises that Hector actually _enjoyed _to be around.

Marquis Arlon had been the younger half-brother of the previous marquis, Helman. Born to a handmaiden of his father's, Arlon had not expected to inherit any lands upon his father's passing; due to the fact that he was illegitimate and his mother was not of peerage, Arlon had spent all of his childhood and most of his adulthood serving as a commander in Santaruz's military. Upon the mysterious circumstances of his half-brother's death, however, Arlon was left as the sole heir. Supported by Hector against the rest of the lords, Arlon repaid the favor by quickly taking Hector's side in nearly all disputes in council.

As one of the oldest members in the Lycian League at sixty-four, Arlon held a general's mindset along with a warrior's bravery. As per his past, Arlon was one of the few lords who encouraged and supported Hector's defense of Araphen. Marquises Santaruz, Worde, and Sir Paris were the only men within the council that supported the mighty Lord of Ostia; the rest, led by the cowardly Emerus of Kathelet, all favored capitulation of some form or another.

"Oswin," the knight stopped his musing and looked towards his charge, "do you remember the battle against Eubans?"

The older knight blinked, unable to recall what his lord was asking of him. However, after a moment, Oswin remembered a mercenary in dark green armor; the man had fought like a lion, his fighting style impressively powerful. Despite his skill, however, the man had fallen to Sir Lowen after an impressive seventeen bouts. "Yes, I remember milord."

"Remember how hopeless it seemed to be? We had roughly a score and a half to our force, and we faced nearly five score of elite mercenaries." Hector tugged on his beard. "Yet, we prevailed. Not only did we not lose a single man, but we gained some as well."

"I remember that well." Indeed, despite his memory slightly receding from age, Oswin could recall every detail of _that _particular campaign; the smells, the sights, the lances he wielded, the good men and women he talked to…all of it could be recalled after a second of thought.

"Tell me, Oswin," Hector fingered the hilt of the armorslayer he wore at his hip, "what is the largest difference between this battle and that one? We were outnumbered in that battle, equipped with inferior weapons, and the castle we were defending was in shambles. Why is it, then, that I feel so much more nervous about this battle than the other?"

"Perhaps it is the commander that opposes us?" Oswin looked out to the east, a few steps away from his liege. "Zephiel is a wise and cunning man, as are his generals. Eubans was a shrewd commander, but he was a simple mercenary."

"No, Oswin, I don't believe it's that. Because, true, Zephiel is a much more dangerous adversary," Hector allowed a small smile to show, "but I have improved as well. No, I think I know why it is that I am so nervous."

"And why would that be, Lord Hector?"

The great Lord of Ostia looked to the flag, watching as the lion buckled as the fabric moved. His eyes fell on the axe, recalling the mighty axe he had once wielded under a mighty man. "It's because Mark isn't commanding us this time."

Oswin could only nod in agreement.

* * *

><p><em>April 19<em>_th__, 999 A.S._

Castle Bern was the epitome of nearly seven centuries of castles across Elibe. Built into the side of a mountain, the castle was the greatest and most venerable defense system within Elibe; compared to its defenses, only Castle Ostia and perhaps Castle Aquleia could hold a candle to the domain of Bern kings. Although it could not compare to the extravagance and grandeur of Aquleia, Bern was just as impressive to a warrior for its Spartan appearance; however, even Bern's appearance did not come close to Aquleia. What set the two apart was Bern's safety and security.

Surrounded on three sides by tall mountain spires that were patrolled by the legendary wyvern knights, the fortress seemed to be near impregnable. To the royal knights who guarded Castle Bern, it was deemed to be impossible to enter or exit without being detected. They boasted that no matter the skill, size, or persona of the person, they would be discovered before they could enter or leave.

Unfortunately for those soldiers, their own princess proved them wrong.

With the escape of Guinevere, the castle was in a flurry. Not only had someone slipped through Bern's walls, but that someone had been their princess! Although it was not the first time someone had snuck inside Castle Bern – three lords and an unassuming strategist had done so twenty years prior – it was the first time anyone had known; the only time previous had been private and was sealed on the lips of thirty-odd soldiers, who would never admit to the deed. Much more alarming than the breach in the defenses, however, was the disappearance of Guinevere.

Upon discovery of the woman's absence, Orer had furiously reported back to Zephiel, informing him of the events that had followed. The King of Bern acted quickly, entrusting Guinevere's bodyguard Miledy with the task of securing his sister. When the king asked his personal advisors who the best soldier to retrieve the princess was, they had all agreed that Miledy was the optimal choice. Orer was inclined to agree – the wyvern knight blamed herself for her lady's escape, thus fueling her drive to track her back down.

It was for this reason that most, if not all, of the guards and knights avoided the crimson-haired knight. Miledy had stormed around Castle Bern for three days; she had been travelling with her younger brother to his assignment under General Narshen's command. The pompous general had held her up for a day before Orer had ordered the man to release Miledy, informing the wyvern knight of her lady's disappearance.

What infuriated Miledy the most was the apparent _ease _behind Guinevere's escape. Despite the fact that Castle Bern had numerous servants, guards, and nobles within its barren halls, the princess had escaped without a single person seeing her. Such incompetence was beyond Miledy's imagination!

'_One would think,' _Miledy scowled as she ascended the stairs that led to the wyvern loft, _'that greatest military on Elibe would have _some _competent guards.'_

The wyvern loft was essentially a large nest. As opposed to horses and most pegasi, wyvern mounts were never tamed. The mighty wyvern lords of Bern preferred the ferocity that wild wyverns possessed – to tame a wyvern would take away its killer instincts, something that was unforgiveable. This ferocity presented a notable problem to all riders and their allies; it was not uncommon for a novice rider to be attacked by his wyvern if the rider was weak or the wyvern overly aggressive. To rectify such a problem, most, if not all, riders underwent a trial of sorts. Although no name had been given to the trial, the trials varied from wyvern to wyvern: some trials included withstanding dragon fire, perilous flights, or harrowing falls. If a rider withstood such a task, the wyvern would develop and instant respect for the rider and a bond would be formed for life; the mount would regard his rider as an equal, yet never as a master.

Such devotion and loyalty between rider and mount was one of the largest reasons wyverns were not tamed; a rider, in most cases, could control his mount and worked well with the wyvern. If the close bond between rider and wyvern did not exist, there would have been no possible way the wyvern lords would have used the wild beasts. It was through this bond that the wyvern lords became the most feared fighting force in Elibe.

As Miledy entered the loft, a few wyverns poked their heads up. Recognizing the wyvern captain as the leader of their readers, a few wyverns snorted in acknowledgement. Seeing the crimson knight entering, the few riders inside the loft stood at attention, saluting sharply.

"Captain Miledy," a short yet stout rider nodded, "what brings you to the loft?"

Miledy nodded at his salute. "Agrein, are your men ready?"

The man shook his head, his thinning green hair flopping on his head. Agrein's beady eyes looked to the right, causing him to frown. "A few of my…newer recruits have taken a liking to the tavern, Captain. I've sent one of my men to retrieve them. Shall we join you in the skies once they arrive?"

"Yes." Miley turned and walked away before she saw her lieutenant salute once more. She would have preferred to search for Princess Guinevere on her own, yet she realized that taking a team with her would be necessary. As irritating as it was to admit she needed help rectifying her mistake, Miledy wouldn't let pride interfere with her duty.

She walked towards a familiar stall as Trifinne poked her head out. Although wyverns could not smile, Miledy couldn't help but feel a slight satisfaction coming from the cyan mount, causing the knight to smile. It seemed as if Trifinne was Miledy's only _trustworthy _companion.

Shaking her head of any nasty thoughts to her lady, Miledy patted the wyvern's snout. "Hey. I bit you're a little bit bored, huh?" As if responding to Miledy's question, Trifinne snorted and rubbed her nose against the knight's arm. Stifling a laugh, Miledy grabbed the saddle from where it hung on the wall before strapping it to Trifinne's midsection. "I'm anxious to get to the air too; this'll be a good fly though. Nice and long."

It would take Miledy at least a candlemark and a half to reach her destination. As word of Guinevere's disappearance spread through Bern like wildfire, various rumors emerged from across the militant country. Most were deemed to be of little consequence and were ignored; however, one remark drifted to them from southwestern Bern that was seemingly credible. While most of the rumors were from peasants describing the princess, this notice described her aide, Ellen – it was why Orer had deemed it to be of consequence. A Sir Rude, a Bern knight stationed by the small hamlet of Locre, claimed that he had seen a brunette cleric travelling through the region a few days prior; due to his relative obscurity to the capital, word of Guinevere's disappearance had just reached him.

Miledy mounted Trifinne before the wyvern advanced on the wide opening that allowed the wyverns to enter and exit as they willed. As soon as Miledy was soaring through the air, her mind drifted to Guinevere. A slight feeling of hurt and shock travelled through her before she steeled herself – it was not the time to be feeling sorry for her hurt feelings.

'_The princess is missing…that is all that matters.'_

* * *

><p>Although Castle Reglay was not one of the first castles that came to a man's mind, it did not take away from its splendor. Although there were few who lived inside, the feeling of humbleness and comfort was just as inviting as it had been over twenty years prior. The first time he had laid eyes on the small castle, Erk had been but a boy of twelve years; although the faces grew older, Castle Reglay still held the same feeling of home as Castle Caerleon did.<p>

As he was ushered into the large foyer, Erk let a smile draw to his face. Around him, he recognized the paintings and tapestries that hung on the walls; for some of the murals, he could recall where and when the Lord and Lady Reglay had had them painted! Declining an offer to be shown to the count, Erk preferred to go through every room.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him as he made his way through the numerous rooms in the castle. Although many of the items and artifacts were newer, there were still some recognized. A golden goblet here, a rare sword there…all were items that Erk had recalled at some point in his long past with the former Mage General.

A familiar head of blonde hair caused him to look up. Erk raised a hand in greeting, feeling slightly awkward for being caught gawking around. "Hello, Master Klein."

The blonde archer looked at Erk curiously for a moment before a look of recognition dawned on him. "Lord Erk?"

Erk smiled slightly at the new general's confusion. It had been more than a few years since he had last seen his old teacher; with the birth of his children and his ascension as Count Caerleon, time had been scarce and was limited. As much as he would have liked to see Lord Pent, his new station and fatherly duties simply did not allow such leisure time. "Congratulations on your promotion to general, Master Klein. A promotion well deserved, might I add."

"Thank you sir," Klein smiled abashedly, "it is nice to hear that coming from you." The young man gestured back to the room he had emerged from, brown eyes flashing with interest. "I suppose you are looking for Father and Mother?"

Erk chuckled, fingering the hem of his robe. Although Erk had been one of the youngest members of Hector's Hordes, he certainly had grown into his own. Still favoring the reds of his youth, Erk was dressed in a regal, yet comfortable, crimson robe. Long purple hair was pulled behind a slightly aging face, revealing a youth that was rarely seen. However, what was most noticeable was the way his violet eyes looked; the orbs belied his age, showing wisdom and experience that few had known. "Yes, that would be nice. I suppose I should stop snooping around and say hello, yes?"

Klein simply grinned in response. He led Erk through the familiar halls before they came to one of the many common rooms in the castle. The sage recalled that this particular room was Lady Louise's personal favorite; the green room was wide and open, with large windows that allowed large amounts of sunlight in.

At the sight of the purple haired sage, the Count and Countess of Reglay rose, wide smiles on their faces. Lady Louise walked forward and hugged Erk tightly, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Erk! Oh, Elimine it has been so long!"

"Hello Lady Louise." Erk returned the hug and the kiss before grasping Pent's forearm with a friendly smile. "Lord Pent, it's an honor to see you again."

Pent nodded and smiled, allowing his silver hair to fall over his shoulder. As they parted, Erk took the time to take in their appearance. Compared to most of their other comrades from the Campaign of Fire, time seemed to have affected the two well. Lady Louise was as beautiful as she always was, never letting age slow her down or affect her looks. Not a gray hair nor a wrinkle was to be found on her, as Erk found himself wondering how she did it – even he had one or two gray hairs!

Lord Pent, as always, carried himself in a dignified yet humble manner, eyes perceptive yet kind. Like his wife, time seemed to have only improved his physical appearance; he seemed to be more intelligent since the Campaign of Fire. Dividing his duties between unraveling the Archsage's scrolls and fatherhood, Pent seemed to become more youthful as he aged – a fact Erk was jealous of.

"The honor is all mine, _Count Caerleon_." Pent stressed the last two words, much to Erk's embarrassment. Although the one-time bodyguard had been granted his peerage some years prior, this was the first occasion that he had seen his former teacher. "How is this Countess?"

"Priscilla is doing fine, Lord Pent. She came under sickness a few weeks ago, but she's fine now. The little ones have kept her busy."

Louise leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. "That's right! I heard from Lady Priscilla that the two of you had a few little ones a few years ago!" Louise leaned over and patted Erk's arm, causing him to smile sheepishly. "You must let me see their adorable faces!"

"Not even ten minutes into conversation and Mother is already asking to see your kids, Lord Erk." Klein walked into the room, where he set down a few tarts. Erk remembered that the family of Reglay preferred to do certain tasks on their own, while relegating other duties to the servants.

Erk allowed himself to smile. "Oh, I do not mind. I'm sure Ajax and Charisa would prefer to see you two over sitting in on a court dinner!"

Pent winced at this. "I take it that more than a few have been with Roartz and Arcard?" Erk noted that the former Mage General did not place honorifics before their names.

"Yes." Erk watched as Klein adopted a rather distasteful look, brow scrunching. "He seems to want to tell me of the 'glory and power' I shall receive for backing him."

"They're just villains trying to take power away from King Mordred."

"Watch your words, son." Pent frowned before looking around the room. "Here you can speak freely. Anywhere else, however…"

"Yes, of course. Forgive me, Father." Klein wrung his hands with an anxious look; Erk reminded himself that Klein was only a few years older than he had been when Erk served in the Campaign of Fire. "It's just that…once you are granted a commission and work with people like Lord Douglas, Lord Percival, and Dame Cecilia, you see how much they care for Etruria. Men like…Roartz just want power for themselves."

"Indeed. I cannot stand to see my country be controlled by such a man…it is why I have stopped going to the court."

Erk raised an eyebrow at this before nodding. "So, that is why you stopped attending. I was wondering why you did; rumors were that Roartz had you placed under house arrest."

Indeed, the hostilities between Pent of Reglay and Roartz of Phestos were well known throughout the members of the court. After the tragic death of Prince Mildain, Lord Roartz had moved with lightning speed to consolidate his hold over the royal court. At the time of the Campaign of Fire, Roartz had already been a semi-influential member of Etruria; as time passed and the older counts and dukes passed to the afterlife, Roartz's prestige and power simply grew until the aging man became the most dominant and prominent noble within Etruria.

As the man's influence over the king grew, dissention sowed itself among the loyal retainers of Etruria. Many of these men, younger noble blood or former generals, resisted Roartz's advances within the court. Led by the magnanimous Lord Pent, the former Mage General, the resistance movement caused Roartz's plans to screech to a halt. Although Roartz exerted the most influence within court, the venerable Pent was viewed in an extremely positive light outside of the courts. Backed by the Three Generals of Etruria, it seemed as if Roartz would be stopped. However, the wily Count of Phestos would not be put down so easily.

As it was since the founding of Etruria, members of the royal court, particularly those of high blood, had the power to dismiss the Three Generals from court. Although Roartz did not have the support to push his policies through, he did have a slight majority – enough to dismiss the three mighty warriors. After this crafty act, more than a few minor nobles found themselves being pulled to Pestos' side; this left Count Reglay without a significant power base, and thus unable to oppose Roartz. Using his newfound supporters to push him to Chancellor, in essence a position higher than the rest of the court, Roartz had dismissed many of the more unpopular nobles within Pent's pseudo-alliance.

Recognizing he had been outmaneuvered, the Count of Reglay retired from public life, claiming illness. Although his side had emerged victorious, Roartz was left with a dilemma: with Pent's retirement, he had turned public opinion to his viewpoint, causing Roartz to become extremely unpopular. As if to compound the difficulties, the relatively new Count Caerleon returned from an ambassadorship in Bern; Count Caerleon held his former teacher's stance against Roartz and the Count of Phestos found himself in a corner once more.

However, once again, deliverance came for Roartz. This time, however, it was not due to Roartz's political prowess. As the news of the Bern invasions of Ilia and Sacae became public knowledge, the people of Etruria turned their back upon war. Roartz's viewpoint coincided with this new opinion, and the count saw his popularity skyrocket. Using this new popularity, Roartz had Count Caerleon forced from court and Roartz found his way to power unhampered.

"Public opinion wouldn't have, and still wouldn't, let him do that." Pent frowned at his former pupil, eyeing the man with a concerned look. "I heard that he forced you from court, Erk. I'm assuming that this is true?"

The Count of Caerleon sighed, narrow fingers rubbing his temples. "Yes. As nice as it has been to spend time with my beautiful wife and children, I cannot say that I've been pleased to know that Count Phestos has been ruining my country. However…there is nothing I can do."

"That seems to be the case of late." Pent nodded slowly before grabbing a book from the study behind him. "General Cecilia stopped over a few weeks ago. I daresay that Cecilia and Percival are growing impatient while Douglas is as sturdy as ever."

"Dame Cecilia wishes to march to Lycia's aid." Klein munched on a tart for a moment before continuing. "She is close with the heiress of Ostia and heir of Pherae; apparently she was their tutor for some time."

"Heir of Pherae?" Louise looked between the three men who mattered the most in her life. "That would make him the son of Lord Eliwood, would it not?"

Pent nodded. "Yes. From what Cecilia has told me, he is quite the intelligent lad. Skilled with a blade as well as tactics. From what I gather, he is still young with a strong moral viewpoint."

"Who does that remind me of?" Erk allowed a small smile to form. "Like father like son, I suppose."

"I've heard that Lord Eliwood is sick," Klein shrugged, "and that Master Roy is returning to Pherae to lead Pherae's forces to Araphen to fight Bern."

"Lord Eliwood is sick?" Erk noted how even Pent seemed to grace the Marquis of Pherae with an honorific before his name, even despite the fact that the Count of Reglay was likely of more noble birth. "This bodes ill for Lycia. Lord Eliwood's sword arm is one of the greatest in Elibe."

"You know of his swordsmanship skills, Father?"

"I more than know of them," Pent held the book from before in his arms, "I used to be protected by them!"

"Oh yes," Louise smiled at her son, "Lord Eliwood was a great warrior. One of the greatest leaders I've ever seen!"

Erk, however, was intrigued by the book that Pent held. Green in color, the book seemed as if it was a spell tome; from the look of the cover, the book was seemingly very old. "Lord Pent, what is that book you are holding?"

"Ah, this one?" Pent held it out as Erk's eyes widened in recognition. "Yes, I've been spending much time studying these tomes. They were so powerful, really. Nowhere near as powerful as the Archsage's, but…still, very powerful these were."

"I wasn't aware you had this in your possession Lord Pent."

"Oh yes," Pent handed the tome to Erk, who took it with careful hands, "I had Master Mark give it to me one time many years ago. I believe he was seeking out someone to take those tomes for him."

"Tomes?" Erk looked up at him curiously as Klein simply watched the exchange; Louise had left the room for a moment, taking care of some personal business. "You have the other two with you?"

"Yes." Pent stood and disappeared into a room before emerging with two books. The tomes were white and black in color, with the darker of the two being very large in size. Pent placed them onto the table in front of Erk before resuming his seat, studying his former student's look. "Apparently, Master Canas returned that one," he pointed to the dark tome, "two years or so after the conflict. Mark had been in Ilia it seems at the time. From what Mark told me, Canas had unraveled the secrets behind that: it's a shame I cannot ask him its secrets."

"Why can't you?"

"Master Canas has been dead for many years now, Erk." At the count's surprise, Pent shrugged sadly. "I learned the news only through Lord Hector. At one of the small state gatherings, he passed the information to me. That makes the fourth member that I know of. Ninian, Florina, Karla, and Canas."

"I'm sorry to say that I know more than just those two. I did not know of Canas, but…" Erk shook his head before answering Pent's questioning look. "Lady Ninian, Dame Florina, Master Canas, Lady Karla…and now Guy and Rath."

Pent started forward at this, eyes widening. "Guy and Rath! How? They were some of the greatest men I've fought with! Rath could pick a man off at four hundred paces and Guy's swordsmanship was the second greatest I've seen!" It didn't need to be said that the greatest was a former mass murderer. "How did they…ah. Sacae."

"Yes." Erk nodded solemnly at this, looking off to the side. "During the fall of Bulgar, Master Rath was felled while trying to defend the city. I heard he downed over two score of wyvern riders. Master Guy was…I heard that they are going to make a statue of him in Bulgar if the nomads regain the city. Apparently," Erk moved to make himself more comfortable, "he and two other men held the city gate for over three candlemarks, allowing the Kutolah clan to escape from Bulgar. I believe the Bern general gave them a funeral pyre, as befits their culture."

"Well…" Pent sighed before looking at the tome in Erk's hands, "it's good to see that honor is still within some hearts."

* * *

><p><em>April 20<em>_th__, 999 A.S. _

Befitting the title of Elibe's strongest, a Bern war camp was an impressive sight to behold. Wooden palisades surrounded enough land to make a raise a small village on; the palisades were supported by small wooden towers at the corners of the square, which were armed with archers. At the midsection of each wooden palisade was a large wood gate, supplemented with thick wooden beams that ran horizontally across the gate. As if to make the walls even more protective, the wooden beams had wet animal skins nailed to them; the wet skins would protect from any flame attack that could burn down the wooden walls.

Within the camp, the gates helped to act as natural dividers. Dirt roads ran horizontally and vertically from the gates, splitting the camp into four nearly equal sections; each section served a specific purpose, along with housing tents for the soldiers. The four sections each maintained a specific duty for the war host; one section maintained the horse stables and wyvern nests, providing food and lodging for the war mounts. Another section held the supply depot and the mess hall. The third part was the armory and forge, where all the weapons were held and created, respectively; the final, northeastern quarter maintained the engineer's quarters. The engineers were amongst the Bern's army's strongest assets; they were responsible for the mighty siege engines that would take on Castle Araphen.

In the center of the camp, where the roads intersected, three large pavilions stood. The two flanking pavilions bore the personal crests of Dragon Generals Narshen and Brunya, regal looking against the Spartan looking camp. However, the center pavilion eclipsed even the two pavilions that flanked it.

The small flag that wove atop the center was much more grand yet intimidating than the other two. A large golden crown topped an intersection of a lance and a sword. Any historian who studied the history of Bern knew that the scepter represented the diplomacy of Bern, while the sword was the Divine Weapon Exaccus, the legendary sword of the Kings of Bern; the sword represented the force that Bern possessed. The crown represented the Bern monarchy and Hartmut's lineage; the three items were placed upon a royal purple background, the official color of the Bern military.

Within the center pavilion sat the mighty King of Bern. Exaccus rested in his hand, the mighty blade's tip resting against the dirt. Although the mighty King Zephiel used to hold the sword in the form of a scepter, he no longer did such a thing. As soon as Bern's elite moved from the mountainous country, he used the innate magic within the blade to keep it in its natural – and more lethal – state. Sitting upon a large oaken chair decorated by silver, the King of Bern cast a formidable sight. Behind him stood a thin form garbed in purple; although the entirety of Bern would fight to the death for their king, the same could not be said for the priestess that accompanied him. Although the soldiers would never say such comments in the presence of the king, more than a few men had recalled the almost inhuman vibe the priestess exuded.

Stony brown eyes glared out to the world, revealing a genius that was understood by few. Zephiel calmly regarded the man bowing before him as the man spluttered out his so-called loyalty for the King of Bern. In his heart, Zephiel had no love for the brown armored marquis and would want nothing more than to put the man to death. However, even Zephiel was willing to swallow his personal distaste for traitors and dishonorable men: even if only for a little while.

"Why have you, a marquis of Lycia, come to me, your enemy?"

Erik of Laus bowed lower, submitting his back to the king. Hands clasped before him, he stumbled over his words. "M-My King, you are not my e-enemy! No, it is Lycia w-with their foolish traditions!"

"Yet," Zephiel towered over Erik, "you swore loyalty to Hector of Ostia. What would make you turn traitor so easily?"

"Lycia is old in tradition, Your Majesty. The individual lords squabble over lands like mice for cheese. The people need a strong and decisive ruler who would protect them. You are that ruler, Your Highness!"

Brunya rolled her eyes at the man. Standing off to Zephiel's right, the purple sage was regarded as one of Zephiel's main arms. A general of exemplary chivalry and fortitude, Brunya was one of Zephiel's most trusted confidantes. Cultivated by the teachings of Orer and the skill of Murdock, Brunya was regarded as the second most able general within Bern, falling only behind the legendary Dragon General Murdock.

She looked down at the Marquis of Laus and felt nothing but contempt for the man. Though she understood the benefits that Bern would achieve if they used the man's territory and men, it did nothing to curb the personal hatred Brunya felt. Looking at the man's beady eyes as she listened to the way he cowed to her king, Brunya couldn't help but feel as if she were looking at a second Narshen. In her mind, the name was synonymous with snake.

"So, what you are telling me is that you would use me for your desires?" Zephiel looked calmly down at the man as Brunya allowed herself to smirk mentally.

"A-Absolutely not, Your Majesty!" Erik's voice shrilly cried out. "I simply…I would give Your Majesty Lycia!"

Zephiel inhaled deeply before staring towards Erik. His eyes twitched for a moment before he calmly addressed the trembling marquis. "You've caught my ear, Erik of Laus. However…there is one slight problem."

"A-And that would be what, Your Majesty?"

"If I recall correctly," Zephiel stood then as he shifted his grip on Exaccus, "Laus' entire force was completely decimated. And, unless I am mistaken, the force that crushed the Laus army was a force of less than _twenty men. _I am no fool, Erik of Laus, and I severely doubt your ability to sway the tides of battle given your…recent military history."

"T-Times have changed, Your Majesty! In those twenty years, I have personally refitting and training the Laus army! Laus has the power to confidently lead Your Majesty's men against Lycia!"

Zephiel regarded Erik for a moment before Brunya spoke from his side. "Marquis Erik," the marquis looked to the Dragon General, "what motivates you so?"

"I have…a long standing rivalry and dislike for Hector of Ostia." The man scowled before looking at Zephiel; Brunya couldn't help but feel as though she was watching a toddler asking for a piece of candy from an adult. "Perhaps Your Majesty would grant me dominion of Ostia…?"

"We shall see." Zephiel looked down at the treacherous Marquis of Laus. "Lycia shall be granted to the man who performs the greatest, whether they be Lycian or Bern. Return to your army, Marquis. I expect to hear of your accomplishments…"

Waiting until the marquis departed, Brunya turned to her liege. "Surely, sire, you shall not entrust Lycia to him?"

"Like I said, whoever performs the greatest shall be given Lycia." Zephiel glanced over to his general, "is there a problem with that, Brunya?"

"No, Your Majesty." Brunya frowned before glancing at the tent flap. "Has Your Majesty heard any word of Narshen?"

"Yes. A messenger delivered a message from him. Apparently, he is bringing a gift." Zephiel curled his lip in distaste. "I hope his gift is better than the last…for his sake."

Brunya could only nod at this. Indeed, the last 'gift' the voracious Dragon General had brought to his king had been one of great anger for Brunya. Narshen had brought five maidens from the churches in Ilia to Zephiel's court; in great anger, Brunya had the man forced from the castle before revealing what the gift had been to her king. The wyvern lord had been lucky it was his comrade who discovered the gift and not his king. "I am…curious as to why Your Majesty entrusted Narshen with the conquest of Lycia."

"Orer believes that Narshen is adequate for the task. As you know," he glanced over towards her, "Orer is never wrong in his assumptions."

"Of course, Your Majesty. I did not know that Master Orer was the one who recommended Narshen."

It could have only been Orer; it was no secret that Brunya held no love for the vainglorious wyvern lord and viewed him only with contempt. Murdock, silent and sturdy as he had always been, reported back to his king that Narshen had performed satisfactorily in the Ilian campaign. Coupling this information with Orer's confidence, Zephiel had Narshen removed from the Ilian front and placed him at the helm of the Lycian invasion. Recalling Brunya from Sacae to Lycia, Zephiel ordered the Dragon General to assist Narshen in claiming Castle Araphen.

"Do you believe Narshen to be inadequate?" It was a loaded question.

"I believe that Gale is a superior choice, Your Majesty."

Zephiel nodded at this before sitting back down, hand still resting on the pommel. He absentmindedly stroked his beard before looking over at Brunya. "Narshen has repeatedly complained that he does not have the opportunity to prove himself. He was made a second to Murdock in Ilia and found no glory there; Gale was as well and outperformed Narshen at every turn. Let us give him Lycia to prove himself. If he proves himself incapable," Zephiel looked to the tent flap, "Gale shall replace him. Is this acceptable to you?" The slightest hint of amusement in his eyes made her relieved.

"Anything Your Majesty declares is my sympathies as well." Brunya bowed to him before exiting at Zephiel's words of dismissal. As she walked to her own pavilion, she couldn't help but feel as though she wished Narshen to fail in his task. It would only make the road easier later on.

* * *

><p><em>April 22<em>_nd__, 999 A.S._

Hector forced himself not to groan as he watched the Bern engineers begin their project. Out of Lycian range, the team of engineers was constructing the base of something that Hector recognized all too well: a trebuchet. The large almost-diamond shaped base compounded the many worries in Hector's heart; the sight caused him to pound an armored fist upon the top of the curtain wall in anger.

'_Damnable Bern soldiers…we're stuck in here like cattle while they ready themselves for the slaughter.' _

In truth, that was what the Lycian defenders were. Like a herd of bovine placed within a butcher's store, the defenders were stuck, unable to do nothing but await the blade that came for them. In the span of a few short days, they had been reduced to sitting within the castle, unable to act.

Despite a sortie led by Sir Paris and Sir Sain, the Bern invaders pressed on. Defeating the sortie and pushing the Lycians into their hole, the Bern host had then surrounded the castle, prohibiting any sort of reinforcement or shipments from coming from within or without the castle. As if to compound the Lycians' troubles, neither Pherae nor Laus had arrived to add their aid to the defenders. Though Roy of Pherae was returning to lead the mighty Pheraen cavalry in his father's stead, it could not come soon enough for Hector.

'_What I wouldn't give to have the company of old here…' _Hector looked at a few of the practicing knights in the courtyard with a grimace. He watched as more than a few made novice mistakes, due to their relative inexperience. _'We'd be able to hold this castle much longer if I had them by my side once more.'_

Not to say that Hector was surrounded by incompetents! There were more than a few Lycian commanders were vindicated their status as elite knights. Of the older generation, Sir Oswin, Sain, Marquis Arlon, and of course himself were exemplary knights who were experienced in the ways of battle and war. Luckily enough, there were those of a younger age who were notable warriors and commanders in their own right! Sir Paris, Hector's half-nephew, was the very code of chivalry, brave and honorable even in the face of danger. Sirs Edward and Thomas, though relatively young, showed bravery and skill that Hector had seen in their fathers many years ago; however, what the younger stock gave that those veteran knights could not was inspiration.

Although legendary commanders amongst the Lycians, men such as Hector and Arlon did nothing to help the individual efforts of each knight when they did not fight alongside them; it was those non-royal commanders who improved the common men-at-arms, spurring them to fight onward. Not bred from royal stock, these notable few had honed their skills through hard work and dedication, just like the majority of the Lycian defenders. Inspired by efforts of men just like they, the common Lycian soldier worked just as hard as those lower yet great knights. It was for this reason that Hector included them within the war council. They acted as his effective arms within the army, unhampered by the tampering of the cowards within the League.

'_It's a shame that I do not trust those fighting alongside me.' _Hector tugged on his beard as footsteps tugged up behind him. Turning, he nodded as Sain walked beside him.

The aged cavalier frowned as he watched the Bern engineers proceed with their task. Fingering the pommel of the silver sword at his hip, Sain allowed himself to sigh before turning to his lord. "Lord Hector, a meeting is being called."

"I need to meet with those goose-feathered, bladder-licking, rat-munching oafs?" Hector disgusted looked over at Sain, who wore a strange grin.

"Unless you consider the likes of Sir Oswin to be those things." Sain allowed himself to nudge Hector, who looked bemused at the former freelancer. "We've assembled the commanders you've issued and are waiting for you, Lord Hector."

"Well then," Hector grinned, "let us go."

It turned out that such a council was just what Hector needed to boost his spirits. Sitting around a council of like minded individuals who knew and appreciated hard work and the efforts of valor. Sitting at a table consisting of the likes of Sirs Oswin, Sain, Edward, Azelus – an Araphen captain – and Marquis Arlon, Hector felt as though he were sitting once more in Mark's ragged tent, discussing the next march. However, once a messenger arrived to inform Marquises Ostia and Santaruz of a meeting of the Lycian Lords, Hector found his foul mood returning.

Storming through the keep with a scowl on his face, Hector looked over to his travelling companion. Marquis Arlon, hand clenched around the sword that never left his hip. "I'm glad to see that they disgust you as they do me."

"Absolutely milord." Arlon wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Woolen-headed cowards! If they had but a backbone, they'd be assisting their men by touring the lines!"

"I understand your sympathies, Arlon. However," Hector tugged at his beard, "we must deal with it as needs be."

Hector could understand why the older man was so riled so easily at the cowardly behavior of the marquises. Unlike Hector, who was raised in court to possibly ascend the throne and was taught royal etiquette, Arlon had none of this training. Although his upbringing granted Hector a venerable warrior, it also led to an argumentative and bullheaded noble. Coupled with his advancing age, it created a man who was relentless and unchanging in his ways. However, the Lord of Ostia did not necessarily mind this; Marquis Santaruz sided with Hector nearly all of the time, providing Hector a strong and likeminded ally both on the battlefield and in court.

"Of course Lord Hector. It just infuriates me that they wish to sue for peace and bend their knee while we knights are fighting for our survival."

There was no further conversation as they drew closer to the assembly room. Barking out for the two soldiers that accompanied the lords to stand watch at the double doors, Hector's arms shot out before knocking into the double doors. The large oaken doors shot open, banging into the assembly room, causing its occupants to jump.

Marquis Arlon took a seat to the right of the large table alongside Sir Paris. Of the eight assembled lords, six sat on the left, visibly cowed by Hector's intimidating entry. Although the reception by Sir Paris was warm, the other lords were cool to the Ostian general. Not that Hector was much warmer. "Good evening, milords. Would you mind explaining the meaning of this?"

"Explain the meaning of what, Lord Hector?" Marquis Memnon of Worde leaned forward, eyebrows raising. Although the Marquis of Worde had supported Lord Hector early on in the siege, Emerus' words had fallen on listening ears and Memnon had been convinced to join the coward's side.

"This meeting. A meeting that requires _every single marquis in Araphen." _Hector's voice dipped dangerously low as the rest of the council looked nervously at one another, much to the amusement of Arlon and Paris. Lord Hector's explosive temper was legendary throughout the League, and though the Lord of Ostia often managed to rein in his temper, he had been known to slip, much to the chagrin of his contemporaries.

"Well, milord, we had a proposition for you…" Priam of Ryerde stood, eyes casting over to the two warriors who looked at the smaller man coolly. "You see, Lord Hector, we would be willing to parlay with King Zephiel of Bern, in return for the safety of our men and of Lycia."

Seeing Hector's face scrunch up in thought, Marquis Emerus continued the thought. "If we parlayed with Bern, then perhaps we could submit to them? If we promise to pay an annual tribute in return for Bern forces not occupying our lands, then perhaps they will grant us leniency in the future."

Hector tapped his temples, frowning as he did so. He looked contemplatively at the various Lords of Lycia before giving a resigned sigh. "And the five of you have agreed to this?"

"Yes," Araphen's Rheims nodded, "we have decided on this."

"We believe it is in the best interest of Lycia, Lord Hector." Marquis Tuscany looked at the rest of his allies, sharing a relieved look with them. If Hector was contemplating surrendering to Bern, perhaps he could be won over.

"Marquis Arlon," the elderly marquis looked over to Hector, "do you recall the Third Article of the Lycian Covenant?"

"Yes, Lord Hector." Arlon gave a feral grin at the other five men, who could recall the article by heart. "If any declaration is created, domestically or foreign, all houses within the Lycian League must be present – either by representative or by head of house – to vote."

"Ah, yes." Hector leaned forward, honest intrigue present in his eyes, leading the lords on. "How do you assume we pass the article?"

"Well, in the Tenth Article, it grants the Lord of the League the ability to call a vote…that would be you, Lord Hector." Emerus allowed a small smile on his face at Hector's hesitant nod. He seemed to be agreeing with the plan.

"Permission denied."

"B-But," Brient stumbled over his words, "M-My Lord!"

"You heard me. I refuse to be the Ostian Lord who bends his knee to another country; be they Etruria, Bern, or even Ilia, I shall not bend my knee to any nation who points their blades at my people!"

"Hear, hear!" Arlon nodded enthusiastically.

"My Lord," Emerus slapped a hand on the table, "I beg you to reconsider!"

"Fine. I shall." Hector paused for a moment before a predatory grin emerged. "My decision is the same after reconsideration."

"Damn you Hector! Your stubbornness shall doom us!" Emerus glared at the marquis, using all the inner strength he could. By God if words could not cow Hector into submission, then maybe intimidation would!

How little they knew the lion that was Hector of Ostia. "What will doom us is conniving weasels such as yourself!" The mighty Lord of Ostia stood then, voice rumbling against the silky sounds of Emerus' own tongue. "Your vassals and retainers fight for our survival and die for our cause while you plot in the shadows, threatening to murder Lycia! I cannot, and will not, condone such absolute insanity in _my _Lycia! From this point on," Hector glared at the other lords, who were visibly shaken by Hector's sudden outburst, "any man who speaks of parley, truces, surrender, or capitulation shall be treated as a traitor to the state and shall be punished thoroughly! This audience is over! Dismissed!"

Hector's fists clenched as he watched the lords disperse, anger welling in his stomach. Containing himself, he forced himself to leave the room, disgusted with the actions of the other lords. Passing by a slight opening in the citadel, he glanced outside before frowning; due to the war meeting and the council with the lords, Hector had missed much of the afternoon. Many candlemarks had passed before Hector heard a distinctive sound; a large rocking of stone caused the general to hurriedly rush to the exit. The sight he saw made him swear.

A trebuchet had been finished and was firing upon Castle Araphen: the siege was beginning.

* * *

><p><em>April 23<em>_rd__, 999 A.S._

Scores of miles away from Araphen, a certain princess and her servant were fighting for their lives as well, though in a very different manner.

A rogue knight of Bern had caught wind of their trail through a greedy townsman; although she had been hesitant to stay within an inn, Guinevere desperately craved sleep. As shameful as it was to admit, her life had been one of luxury and comfort and she did not have the body to consistently be on the run. They had made great strides, but Guinevere's endurance failed her as she was forced to recuperate in a small hamlet near the Pheraen border.

However, it was during this stay that a knight named Rude personally visited the village, ransacking it for valuables. Guinevere was managed to stay hidden in the nearby forest when a nosy villager, hoping to garner support and spare his home, revealed that a woman that matched Guinevere's description had been staying in the village. Ellen, who had stayed in the village to pose as a nun for the local chapel, had fled to the forest to tell her lady to flee the village. Since then, they had been on a seemingly unending dash through the forested hills of Pherae.

Despite this, however, Guinevere knew that if she did not find some sort of help soon, she would be in trouble. While the knights had horses to supplement their search (though the steeds were slowed by the thick forests and hilly terrain), Guinevere and Ellen had no such accommodations. Forced to sleep for a few candlemarks at a time, the forests found no rest for the weary. However, as if protected by God, the weather had not turned against them; the sun shined overhead, its relentless heat beating down upon the forest. It was the one factor that worked _for _them – while the heat did not do much but make them slightly uncomfortable in their cool dresses, the hotness would likely affect the armored men who pursued them.

It was during one of these heat spells that Guinevere slowed down, wiping the sweat from her brow. Sweat beaded on her chest and stomach, slightly darkening the crimson dress she was garbed in. She huffed out as she clung to a tree in, breathing heavily. Ellen drew close to hear, having discarded her veil more than a few days prior; in order not to draw the knights on their path, she had buried it with her hands before covering the fresh dirt with leaves. They couldn't take any chances.

"Ellen…" Guinevere looked to the direction they had been travelling in, "I believe that is an empty clearing…"

"It is, My Lady. I believe it's a hill…" Ellen had scampered ahead of Guinevere numerous times in the harrowing trek to scout the land ahead of them. "Ah!" Ellen started forward as Guinevere stumbled; the princess waved her off with a hand. "My Lady! Are you hurt? Tired? Shall we rest?"

"No…no, I am…I am fine. Let us continue. We can rest once we get to that hill…" Guinevere stumbled for a moment before making the painstakingly long walk to the hill. The forest area died out behind them as they were greeted with the rolling plains of northern Pherae. As soon as she felt the soft grass under her tired feet, Guinevere stumbled forward. "Ellen."

"Yes, My Lady?" The cleric stood beside her charge before Guinevere pointed out to the plains. Following the slender finger, Ellen noticed that a man was walking away from them, in the same direction they had been going. "Ah…shall we avoid him?"

"I think he poses no problem. He seems to be a traveler." Guinevere stood before rubbing her throat, a wistful look taking over her features. "I would like to see if he had water as well…"

Ellen nodded sadly; she had taken two water skins from the town before her rushed leave, but those had run out the day prior. With the heat and the strenuous activity, even the most hardy of men would be asking for a drop of water. Yet Guinevere, ever dignified, did not utter even the slightest word of complaint. "Shall we meet him?"

"Yes."

Exhausted as they were, the two women seem to possess an invigorating energy that allowed them to move slightly quicker than they had been. Although the man had been moving in the same direction they had been, he seemed to be moving rather sluggishly, as if in deep thought. The closer they came to the traveler, the easier it was to discern his appearance. Average height and build, the man possessed shaggy brown hair as he trudged through the thick grass.

"Pardon me, fair sir," Guinevere called out to the man as they came within earshot, "I was wondering if you may help a lady?"

The traveler turned around with a flourish. As Guinevere looked at him closely, she thought the word inconspicuous might have been created for such an individual. Brown hair was scattered atop his head, messy in a boyish way. His face, though young, bore the wrinkles of advancing age at the sides of his eyes and lips; however, if the word inconspicuous could be applied to anywhere on the man, it certainly did not apply to the traveler's eyes.

Brown eyes regarded her with a callousness that Guinevere had seen only in her brother's eyes. Yet, behind that callousness was an immense wisdom, a knowledge of the world that was nearly unsurpassed. Slight recognition formed behind those eyes as the man started forward, mouth moving inaudibly.

"I'm sorry," Guinevere shook her head, "I did not hear you."

"Guinevere." The man looked towards her as Guinevere stepped backwards in shock. Ellen stepped forward, a frown on her face. "Forgive me. I just…recognized you from long ago."

"I see." Guinevere eyed the man with suspicion until she deemed he couldn't possibly harm her; his arms were rather thin and he concealed no sort of hidden weapon on his person. "I'm sorry to…intrude upon you, but we are out of water an-"

"Here. Use this." The man dug in the pack on his back before offering a water skin; despite the man's dirty clothing, the water skin seemed to be almost unused. Guinevere gratefully took the skin before drinking from it, relishing the cold liquid that ran down her throat. "What is the Princess of Bern doing in Pherae? One would think it would be dangerous."

Guinevere's head shot up. She instinctively took a step backward, preparing herself to run. "I believe you have me mistaken."

"No, no," the man tapped his temple as he peered towards her, "this mind forgets nothing. In the forty years I have been alive, I've been able to recall anything I've seen for longer than a minute. No," the man grinned, "I know you are the Princess of Bern and sister to Zephiel."

"Where is your allegiance?"

The man regarded her awkwardly for a moment before rocking his head, as if testing the name around mentally. Patting the satchel at his side, the men nodded towards the north. "I am a strategist in service of Hector of Ostia and Eliwood of Pherae."

Guinevere's eyes widened; never had she thought she would have met a vassal of Lycia so soon! However, something was wrong with this man; if he was a strategist, why wouldn't he be in Araphen, using his talents. "Why are you here then? Would you not be in Araphen, assisting your lord?"

The man nodded slowly. "If I was a technical vassal, I would be." At the royal's confused look, he clarified his statement. "I am an…old friend to the lords. I was returning to Araphen to offer my assistance."

"I see. You know the Marquises of Ostia and Pherae then?"

"That would be correct."

Guinevere felt as though she had hit gold in a haystack. Just a few hours ago, she wasn't sure if she would ever make it to Lycia; now, not only had she gotten sustenance, but she was received by a friend of the Ostian Marquis! "If it would not be too much hassle, sir, would you accept my company?"

"Eh?" He looked at her with a confused glance before raising an eyebrow. "Why would you wish to travel with me?"

"I wish to parlay peace with the Lycian League. I need to speak with one of your marquises to do so."

"I see." The man seemed to argue and weigh the pros and cons before nodding slowly. "Yes, I see nothing wrong with that. However…"

"However?" Guinevere looked over to Ellen, who shrugged.

"Araphen shall be a battlefield of blood. It shall be a place of death, Highness." The man shook his head before point towards the southwest, looking at her with an experienced that seemed to be far beyond his years. "No, we shall not head towards Araphen. We go to Pherae, the domain of Eliwood." As if on cue, the man reached into the satchel at his side and pulled out a map, holding it before Guinevere. "Forgive my being frank, Highness, but we must go straight west. From here on out, it is mostly hilly grasslands. We shall make good time, especially if we stop and purchase horses; I believe I have enough gold for two steeds. If we do this, I shall accompany you to Pherae, which would be straight south from there."

Guinevere nodded before a thought occurred to her. Looking towards the man, she frowned at him. "Allow me to ask…why are you helping me in such a way?"

Expecting an answer that would denote peace and loyalty, the Princess of Bern was met with a very difference answer. "To rectify a past mistake…I shall assist you not out of compassion for people, but for a swift and derisive end to the carnage. I may have been able to prevent this twenty years prior…yet I did not. I will correct my mistake."

Taken aback, Guinevere decided not to pry; the man was seemingly very convicted towards his goal, whatever it may have been. "Thank you, regardless, for your efforts sir…I'm sorry, I do not believe I caught your name."

"Indeed." The man looked at her before shaking his head. "Do not call me 'master' or 'sir'; I am not noble in blood nor in spirit. I do not deserve such honorifics. No, Your Majesty, I go by the simple name of Mark."

* * *

><p>In the rolling hillsides of Pherae, the soil was salty, leaving the farmland poor compared to that of the rest of Lycia. Despite this, the scattered villages throughout Pherae managed just fine to feed their families. The populace-oriented policies that the Lords of Pherae enacted throughout the decades ensured that every Pheraen shall have food on his plate. Bread was cheap, leading to contentment in the mountainous province; even when the prices of bread went up, there were others way a Pheraen could fill his belly.<p>

The rolling hills and forests of Pherae gave rise to a bountiful wild game. If the prices of bread became too expensive or the harvests became underwhelming, a villager within Pherae could supplement their meal with meat of some sort. Although throughout most of Elibe such hunting was not possible, due to hunting being maintained as a _royal _privilege, it was not only possible but it was encouraged by the Marquis of Pherae. Rather than jealously hoarding the plentiful wild animals for themselves, the ruling marquises of Pherae believed that such practices would allow for the people of Pherae to prosper throughout the years – a belief that was proven true many times over.

It was these types of policies that endeared the ruling marquis to his people. Especially throughout the reign of Eliwood, the people of Pherae wholeheartedly believed in their lord, who treated them well. It was often that Marquis Eliwood would have soldiers help tend to his peoples' fields, assisting in the menial tasks that most men detested; on more than one occasion, the marquis himself would leave Castle Pherae and assist in the sowing of fields. It was no secret that Lord Eliwood loved gardens and flowers – many of the villages would plant small town gardens as a small homage to their beloved lord. This sort of devotion led the other Lords of Lycia to refer to Pherae as the "Peasant State"; however, this unkind statement was never made in the presence of a Pheraen knight.

Pherae's military typically consisted of anywhere from five to six score of mounted knights, not including Castle Pherae's guards. Each knight went through rigorous training from the ripe age of seven until they reached knighthood at seventeen; every three years, the Commander of the Order would make rounds with a small retinue of knights, testing the boys within each village. The children's names would be recorded along with a personal ranking system. After deliberation, a set list would be created for greatest to least for training; the knights would then personally visit the home of the child and discuss the impending knighthood and the finer details of the service. Unlike other territories, the ruling lord did not force enlistment and offered a declination of service; interestingly, it was this offer that managed to continuously fill the services. It was a reason why the Order of the Hawk had been one of the most effective forces on Elibe for centuries.

However, not even the knights could be drawn to protect all of Pherae at one time. Nestled between the large hills of Santaruz and the mountains of Bern, Pherae was a breeding ground for bandits and vagabonds. Although numerous incursions by the Order managed to contain their numbers to a low level, they hid in throughout the land, fearing the might of Pherae. In order to protect the villages, the knights of Pherae instructed militia members of each village; by doing this, individual villages would not be anywhere near as vulnerable to attack as most other regions were. Often enough, retired knights of Pherae or especially skilled militiamen were in left to command the village defenses.

It was one of these veteran militia members who raised the alarm in the village of Nesme.

"Wil!" Dart looked up as Wil hurried into view with his bow and a quiver, eyes darting around. "Was it you who raised the alarm?"

"Yes." The sniper peered out over a hill, pointing towards a group of around two and a half score. From what the archer could see, axes and swords were prevalent amongst the group and none were mounted – in Wil's eyes, that was synonymous with bandits. "Do you see that?"

"Aye. Look at them bilge rats!" Dart grimaced as he fingered a throwing axe at his side. "Why aren't they comin' at us though? They just be standin' there!"

"Wil, Dart," Farina jogged up to them, javelin clasped in her hands, "what are they doing?"

"I don't know," Dart shrugged before glancing over at the gate, "but they've shut us in."

"Wait, what? How?" Wil looked over to the village gate where two of the villages were pushing on the gate. "Why would they shut us in? Unless…" Wil glanced back over to where the bandits stood idly by, looking out to the north towards… "Their goal isn't us, it's Castle Pherae. They want to make sure we don't move!"

"Ye be right!" Dart turned around and started to yell, grabbing able bodied men as he did so. "C'mon ye landlubbers! Let's get that gate open! Farina, c'mon!"

Wil couldn't help but smile at the two as they commanded the effort to open the gate. After Nergal's fall, Wil and Rebecca had returned to Pherae together while Dart (who was discovered to be the long lost Dan) and Farina left for adventure and journeying on the seas. However, after taking a near-fatal wound for Fargus, Dart returned to Pherae with Farina not far behind. Upon seeing the birth of his nephew, the former pirate declared that the 'wee little lad needs his Uncle Dart' and settled down in Nesme, taking up farming in place of pirating. Much to the amusement of Wil and Rebecca, Farina stayed as well, claiming she was only staying until the former Davros crewman 'coughed up that dang treasure map'. However, the glances she shot Dart spoke otherwise.

In his haste to help the effort to unbar the gate, Wil did not notice the storm of dust coming from the forest; nor did he notice the high flying pegasus knight that flew towards the village.

* * *

><p>Damas grinned as he watched his bandits assault Castle Pherae. A veteran Bern bandit of over thirty year's experience, the man knew how to coordinate raids on a large scale. A scourge of the border villages along Bern's western mountain range, Damas was wanted in no less than three Lycian territories and the Kingdom of Bern. As such, he spent his days hiding out within the Bern Mountains. Imagine his surprise when the Prime Minister of Bern offered pardon in return for attacking Pherae!<p>

When the deal was made, Damas had gathered the surviving bandits within Pherae. The bandits within Pherae, broken by the incursions against them, readily agreed to Damas' proposal of invasion. Equipping the eight score bandits with weapons buoyed from Bern, Damas created a fierce fighting force with his Bern group at the center. As if to increase his chances, Damas found a mercenary group travelling along the border to the north; paying them with money he had taken over the years, Damas' fighting force included over one hundred and forty axmen and fifty professional mercenaries.

Hearing the pounding of hooves behind him, Damas turned. A small retinue of horsemen, less than a score, charged through the forest; the mounted men were farmers, equipped with less than adequate armor and weaponry. Seeing the pseudo-cavalry, Damas predatorily grinned. "Well, look here… A group peasants on mules!" Damas elbowed his second in command, a Pheraen bandit named Lorrid. "Tell Dieck and his mercs to cover our back!" Damas turned back towards the castle when Lorrid returned a few minutes later. "What?"

"Damas, Dieck's men refuse to move!"

Damas spun around at this, eyes wide and flaming. "What did you say! What the hell is that man think he's doing!"

"I do not know," Lorrid held his hands out in front of him for Damas' moods were unpredictable at best, "he says that he will not move, Boss! He's camped out on a hill by the village of Nesme!"

"Dammit!" Damas grabbed his heavy axe and prepared himself to storm off when the hooves grew louder and more thunderous. Looking up to the forest, he saw that the peasant knights were withdrawing back to the greenery, wicked smiles on their faces. Realizing that his men were crowding around the forest edge to get a better look inside, Damas' eyes widened. "Get them the hell away from the forest!"

As if planning the charge with his words, the forest exploded with noise. Bursting out of the shrubbery and trees with a roar that could make the gods cower, wave after wave of mounted knights charged forward. With lances straightened ahead and swords glinting in the afternoon sun, the mighty knights of Pherae clashed against the unprepared bandits, cutting them down to a man near the forest's edge. Leading them astride a brilliant white stallion, a fiery haired youth rode forward. Reins in his left hand, he struck out with his jeweled long sword, swinging it with the finesse that only a trained knight of Pherae would possess. Pointing the blade forward, blade tinted red, the young man yelled out the call of Pherae.

"Dive, Hawks of Pherae!"

At this note, the Pheraen bandits quaked in fear, weapons audibly clanking against one another in terror. Breaking rank and fleeing, the Pheraen bandits left their Bern counterparts unprepared against the rush of horse and steel. Watching his men being cut down left and right, Damas turned to scream at his second in command when he realized the man had been cut down.

Grabbing a fallen bandit's handaxe, Damas whipped it at a red armored cavalier. The knight saw the approaching projectile and leaned back in the saddle, allowing it to pass harmlessly in the air above him. Although all the men around him were fleeing in terror, Damas kept his wits about him; a seasoned veteran of over sixty raids, the man's blood was cool like ice. Deciding that the battle was lost, Damas headed off to a familiar hilltop – he had a blood debt to settle.

Marching towards the small group of mercenaries, more than a few distasteful glances were sent his way. He pushed his way through the various axmen before coming upon a blue haired mercenary. Littered in scars, the man cast a fearful sight upon any he leveled his blade against; Damas, however, was not a man who was easily frightened. "Dieck!"

The man in question looked up, flanked by the two axmen who always traveled with him. Giving Damas an inquisitive look, Dieck flashed a slight smile. "Oh, hello Damas. What can I do for you?"

"What the hell! You led to the death of my men!" Damas shoved Dieck harshly, causing the man to step back slightly. "I demand blood for this!"

"Sorry, buddy," Dieck's eyes suddenly steeled, leaning forward towards Damas, "but I don't think so."

"What do you mean!"

"I mean…" Dieck unsheathed the heavy blade at his back, causing Damas to step back and draw his axe. "I've been under contract to a different man this entire time. It was just by luck that you passed me. And…" Dieck's eyes flashed with iron fury, "I don't appreciate men who attack my employer."

"Y-You tricked me!" Damas leapt forward towards the mercenary, axe crashed down against the iron blade, Dieck forced Damas back with a foot to the torso, making him scream in anger. "I could have held Pherae! We could have been great!"

Dieck didn't reply as the steel axe crashed against the blade once more. Damas chopped downward from the upper right before Dieck's blade forced the axe down. Axe underneath the heavy iron blade, Damas was defenseless as the sword cut across his chest. Blood sprayed right to left before Damas yelled in anger; the bandit fell to a knee before Dieck's sword flashed downward, taking the man's left arm with it. Damas looked towards the teal haired mercenary, who wore no expression as Damas' head left his body.

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	3. Legacy of Durbans

**Legacy of Durbans**

_April 23__rd__, 999 A.S._

_Castle Pherae, Lycian League, Elibe_

The task of clearing bodies was never one of the duties that any man – knight or otherwise – wished to perform. Although knights could handle the sight of blood more than most people, the sight of missing limbs and detached body parts made even the hardiest of warriors grimace. Although the mighty Order of the Hawk could shatter through the defense of the most stalwart of knights, they did not always kill their enemies cleanly. The charge of a horse leant great power to their weapons, resulting in a devastating combination of speed and power; however, this speed and reliability upon a body that was not their own resulted in strikes that were not always clean. Though the model of chivalry said nothing about the cleanliness of death, the gruesome sight still weighed upon the minds of the Order.

The knights of Pherae slogged through the collection of bodies, piling them into a large wooden cart that was pulled from the castle. Although it was not the most honorable of ways to dispose of felled enemies, a mass grave was being dug within the forest to bury the men. Unlike a battlefield in war, where bodies were incinerated in giant funeral pyres or in mass graves, typical small scale battles warranted proper graves for those slain. However, for the Order of the Hawk, time was of the essence – Araphen needed their lances.

Dividing his force into two equal halves, Roy of Pherae had detached a company under Lance to pursue the fleeing bandits. Although there was no glory to be gained by cutting down retreating men, it would ensure peace for Pherae's future: the men were bandits, after all. The other half helped to clean up the remnants of the battle; they were assisted in this task by the local villagers of Nesme and a mercenary group.

When the Order had circumvented the battlefield to scout out any of those who had escaped the initial charge, they had encountered a mercenary band overlooking the village of Nesme. Although they had nearly come to arms at the sight of the ragged bunch, their leader had raised his arms in peace. After introducing himself to Roy, the mercenary had revealed that he had been contract by Pherae itself. The leader, a veteran warrior and pit fighter named Dieck, had the men under his employ assist the knights and villagers with the clean up.

Even Roy himself was assisting, digging the large pit that would serve as the men's final resting place. Although the lordling had studied swordsmanship under some of the greatest swordsmen in Lycia, the youth did not have a stuck for death. As he mounted his steed to enter the castle, he found Marcus at his side.

"Master Roy," Marcus looked worriedly from his saddle, "are you well? You shouldn't strain yourself, milord."

"No, Marcus, I am fine. Physically, at any rate."

"Physically?" Marcus tugged on his beard once. "Forgive this old man for asking, but what does milord mean? Are you mentally not well? Perhaps sleep shall benefit you."

Roy allowed himself to smile at Marcus' worries. For as long as he could remember, the aged vassal had catered to Roy, yet had diligently cultivated his ideals of chivalry and honor. "Today was the first time I killed a person."

Marcus tilted his head back in an understanding matter. Over the years, he had met more than his fair share of men who had been unnerved by the act of killing; many promising knights had left the Order before their potential had been reached due to the death that was involved. Marcus held nothing against these men – some men were meant to be knights, others were not. "Ah. Yet, those men were men of vulgarity, men who have no chivalry. We did a good thing today, Master Roy."

"Yes, they were men without morals…but they were still people, Marcus. At one point, they had a loving family and were loving people." Roy sighed and looked sadly at his horse's mane before they emerged through the main gate of the castle. Forcing a smile onto his face, the youth raised his hand as they entered the interior of the castle.

Though nowhere near as large as castles such as Araphen, Ostia, or Aquleia, Castle Pherae was nonetheless impressive. Sturdy and built atop a small hilltop, the stronghold of the Order of the Hawk had survived a century of battle and weather, looking none worse for the wear. Initially created in the tumultuous period after the Scouring as a military base, the castle experienced numerous expansions over its long history. As the ruling marquises moved their policies from militaristic roles to that of domestic, the castle began to reflect the changes.

In the reign of Enriel, twice great grandfather of the current marquis, Castle Pherae experienced numerous amounts of renovations both on the interior and exterior. Replacing the aging stone and lumber within the castle with new mined stone and marble, the stability of the castle was greatly increased. Expanding the outside of the castle by adding a courtyard and a barbican, the castle went from becoming a fort of antiquity to a castle on part with that of Araphen or Edessa.

It was in this courtyard that over one hundred men and women stood, cheering as Roy rode through. In addition to the castle guard, a group of servants maintained Castle Pherae. Alongside the servants were travelling merchants who had been bartering their wares to the inhabitants; squires and younger knights cheered as well, smiles wide on their faces. At the sight of Roy's waving hand, the cheers grew louder as Roy and his loyal retained moved through the courtyard. The cheers only stopped when Roy and Marcus dismounted.

"Will it always be like that?" Roy looked over to Marcus, who walked slightly behind the noble.

"The ovation, Master Roy?" A nod from the red haired teen. "Yes, it will be. They view you as a hero now, and every time you perform heroic deeds, you shall be treated as such."

"I'm no hero though," Roy looked over at Marcus like a child who had been caught in the cookie jar, "what I did was not heroic."

"How wasn't it, milord? Those men," Marcus gestured to the plains they had come from, "would slay an innocent man and forget about him before they slept that night. Men such as they are better off gone, Master Roy."

"Perhaps, Marcus, but does that make us any better than them? In battle, we kill indiscriminately in order to achieve victory. In that sense," Roy nodded as they passed Lowen, who bowed low, "we're not better than them."

"Pardon this old man and his ways, but I must disagree Master Roy. Unlike those men, who would kill for the joy of it, we kill for duty, for the people. We are the shield that protects the people, Master Roy, and the sword that smites our enemies."

Roy nodded slowly before huffing out resignedly. "Yes, I know…I just do not wish to turn into the beasts that those men are."

Marcus smiled as they came upon the small foyer to Lord Eliwood's chamber; Harken and Isadora stood guard outside of it, bowing respectfully to their young liege. "Every fair knight within the realm is a beast, Master Roy. However, unlike those foul vagabonds," Marcus rapped a gauntleted hand to his chest, "we are chained beasts. Our chains, however, are not physical; our chains are our consciousness, Master Roy. Our chains are only released when we are forced to do so."

"Maybe so Marcus." The two stopped before Eliwood's door, Marcus standing a respectful two paces away as Roy's hand rested on the handle. "But perhaps the chains that hold us are easily severed. Some things…are just not worth a person's life."

Marcus watched as Roy disappeared the large oaken door to his father's room. Despite his hard set ways, the aged knight felt as though Roy would change his view upon the world. Just as his father had, Roy would forever warp the shape of chivalry and honor. Marcus let a small smile fall on his lips before turning on his heel. It was an honor to serve such men as the Marquises of Pherae.

'_Master Roy possesses a nativity of the world and of men,' _Marcus spared a glance back to the closed door before exiting the small length of hallway. _'Only the nobles of Pherae can such nativity exist and strengthen a man, instead of weakening him. In more ways than one, Master Roy is much like Lord Eliwood. His righteousness will lead him to become the greatest lord that Elibe has ever seen…Master Roy, I shall serve you to the death.'_

Behind the oaken door, the two most beloved men in Pherae embraced briefly before talking in private. Nothing related to state matters or the coming war was discussed; after months of being absent from Pherae, both Roy and Eliwood desired a slight comfort in personal matters. Although Eliwood had many retainers and vassals who cared deeply for him, and he for them, there was no living person on Elibe that Eliwood was closer to than his heir. Although there was a time when the marquis had his wife to relay his concerns and worries; after Lady Ninian's sickness and death some nine years prior, however, Eliwood bottled his worries and emotions. It wasn't until a bout of sickness that Eliwood confided his deepest worries to his dear friend Hector and his vassals Merlinus and Marcus. As Roy informed his father of his studies in Ostia, a Merlinus' voice drifted through the door.

At Eliwood's beckoning, the former merchant entered the personal chamber of the marquis. Like most of the members from the Campaign of Fire, Merlinus showed signs of advancing age; however, unlike most of the other members, Merlinus was into his sixth decade, and his body was beginning to show that fact. Hairline receding as his body became weaker, Merlinus maintained the same disposition as he always had. His loyalty and devotion to Eliwood only grew with time, and his unwavering devotion was rewarded after Merlinus' business failed.

The merchant had opened a business in Ostia until a competitor forced the man out of business. Deliverance of Merlinus' wares came in the form of Lord Eliwood, the recent ascended Marquis Pherae. Offering to use his impressive assets to place Merlinus on his feet, the merchant declined such an offer; offering his services solely to Eliwood, Merlinus became the chief economic advisor to the marquis, much to the amusement of some other Lycian houses. The Lords of Ryerde, Kathelet, and Araphen, in particular, regarded the stumbling man as nothing more than a jester in a merchant's clothes. However, this view was immediately changed when Pherae's economy soared.

Using his considerable economic acumen and his ties he created as a merchant, Merlinus helped to increase Pherae's fortunes by a considerable amount. It was quickly established that Merlinus was one of the most capable economic advisors within Lycia and his success was deemed to be his serving Pherae. While his mind was the same as it had been, it was Pherae's resources and ability to circumvent the typical constrictions that were placed upon businesses. As time went on, Merlinus' adequate political skills were weighed along with his economic savvy before Eliwood appointed him as Steward. Despite his newfound position, the man was ever the same, humble and friendly as he had always been.

"Lord Eliwood, Master Roy," Merlinus bowed before both of them, "I have spoken to the leader of the mercenary band."

"Ah, that's right." Eliwood coughed softly before nodding at Merlinus, who looked at his old friend with concerned eyes. "I had you hire a group of mercenaries. I take it you signed the contract?"

"That would be correct, My Lord. As per milord's orders, I used my judgment on whether this man would be the correct choice to guard Master Roy."

"I take it from your signing that you believed he was?" Eliwood glanced over at Roy, who was watching the two men with interest.

"Yes." Merlinus twiddled his bushy mustache with one hand, the other behind his back. "In fact, sire, I believe that I've not met such an impressive group of mercenaries in twenty years."

Eliwood nodded, understanding Merlinus' words. Throughout the Campaign of Fire, most of the men and women who joined were mercenaries or hired arms of some sort. Aside from those who were ordered by a superior or vassals to one of the three lords, all of the men and women had been paid in gold at the end of the harrowing adventure. Despite the dangers and outlandish odds they faced, not one of the hired arms left the service; all of the mercenaries threw themselves in harm's way for the lords, acting just a vassal would. "I know what you are saying. How many men are in this company?"

"I believe about fifty, sire. Most infantry, wielding axes and swords. Many of them seem to be men of integrity and bravery; hard working and loyal men who are trying to provide for families, I believe."

"This is good…Roy," the boy looked up, "I trust that you know what you must do, yes?"

"Of course, Father. I am to lead Pherae's armies against 'those who seek to encroach upon the integrity of Lycia and the League.'"

Eliwood barked out a laugh as Merlinus chuckled slightly. "I see that you've been studying the Covenant! It's good to see that you've taken your studies to heart!" His eyes hardened then, the fire of determination claiming him like in his youth. "You've not arrived a moment too soon; Harken's men were hard pressed on the walls. However, that is not the reason…no, you arrived soon to save us, though we may be too late for Araphen."

"Too late?" Merlinus looked to his lord of twenty years, frowning as he did so. "Surely Lord Hector will be able to repel the Bern forces?"

"You have not heard estimates of the Bern forces, have you Merlinus?"

The merchant nodded then shrugged. "More rumors than estimates. I've heard everything from three hundred mercenaries to four thousand knights. I assume that the actual number is much different?"

"From what Matthew's spies reported back, the enemy numbers around seventy-five score." Eliwood's hand clenched in his lap, knuckles turning white. All who had been within the castle since Hector's call to arms knew that Eliwood was despairing at his inability to assist his oldest friend in his time of need. "Hector only has five hundred at his back."

"He's outnumbered three to one…" Merlinus looked towards the ground as he thought of the tremendous odds stacked against the mighty Lord of Ostia. Although the general had fought battles of worse odds, he had trust allies and the instruction of a genius tactician to guide his axe. It wasn't any secret that some of the more ambitious marquises disliked Hector and would do all they could to cut him down – as long as it saved their own skins, of course.

"Though the battle looks bleak, we are honor bound to send aid. Even if we cannot defeat Bern, it is our duty to be there alongside Hector. Although we are outnumbered, you arriving at the head of one hundred and fifty cavalry and mercenaries shall greatly increase Araphen's chances of withstanding the storm."

"Further," Eliwood continued, "we must win this battle for the peace of Lycia. If something were to happen to Lord Hector, then Ostia would be thrown into chaos. For this reason, Lilina has departed for Ostia in the company of Sir Bors and his command. She is well loved by the people and if anything were to happen to Hector, only she would be able to soothe the populace."

"I understand, Father." Roy nodded.

"Good. Merlinus," the balding man looked to his sire, "have the mercenaries depart from Pherae if they are ready to march. I trust that you shall accompany Roy?"

"Of course, Lord Eliwood," Merlinus replied, "I shall lay my life on the line for Master Roy. I shall tarry only long enough to ready the supplies."

"A moment, Merlinus…" Eliwood held a hand in the air before coughing harshly. Ignoring the ache that rose in his chest, Eliwood continued. "Inform Marcus to take the most able knights with him. I want him to take one hundred knights, armed with the greatest weapons and armor within the castle. The remaining knights and squires shall remain in Pherae under Lowen and Harken."

"Your words are my command, milord." Merlinus bowed before exiting the room, his green cloak waving behind him.

Roy looked curiously at his father, wondering why the man had said those things. "Father, surely Marcus would outfit the knights with the greatest equipment and such, would he not?"

"Of course. However…" Eliwood allowed himself to smile, "I've known Marcus my entire life and I know how he thinks. Surely, he would have left a very able knight or two here at the castle to defend it. That would not do."

"Oh. Well, surely one or two knights would not make a difference? We would be fine with a man of inferior skill."

Eliwood chuckled, much to Roy's embarrassment. "Oh, son, I'm sorry. Of course you would not understand…" Eliwood sighed before coughing softly again, hand waving off Roy's concern. "Many years ago, if a certain strategist would have heard you say such a thing, he would have slapped you upon the head. Ho, I can remember his scorns to members even now! After those campaigns, Roy, I've never underestimated what a single man could possibly do."

"I see…" Roy glanced down at his feet as he wrung his hands nervously. Even through his gloves, he could feel his palms growing clammy with the thought of what awaited him. He had been unnerved by slaying men of dishonor; what would happen when he fought those who had families, who were good men?

Eliwood sensed his son's unease and allowed himself to smile. He could recall those days of uncertainty of what was down the road; it was only through Mark's words that the current marquis was able to steel his body and mind to the tasks that had presented themselves. "Roy." His son looked up. "Take the black canvas off of that painting." Eliwood pointed to a large painting that was covered in a veil.

Roy raised an eyebrow at the painting, anxious to see what was underneath it. He knew his father had the painting painted when he was seven; however, due to his training under Harken and Marcus, the boy hadn't seen it being painted. Always a respectful youth, Roy had desisted from uncovering the painting without his father's permission. Roy reached forward and grabbed the cloth before giving the veil two harsh jerks; the sight that awaited the youth caused him to gasp and step back in shock.

The portrait was a masterpiece, painted over a painstaking two year period. Marquis Pherae had personally overseen the artist, vividly describing the woman. Kind crimson eyes contrasted with the beautiful unique teal-colored hair that fell about her shoulders, making the woman seem as if she were not of this world. Possessing the graceful figure of a dancer and the poise of a royal lady, the woman was a beauty of unimaginable proportions.

"I-Is that…" Roy stepped forward, laying a hand upon the borders of the portrait. "Mom?"

"Yes…I had it painted right after she d-…passed away." Eliwood smiled softly as Roy knelt before the picture. "I thought that maybe it would have been nice to hang in the gathering room. However," Eliwood's heart was wracked with pain that had never subsided, "after seeing the portrait for a little over two years, I missed her more than I ever did. So I covered it up. I thought that maybe you'd want to see her before you left."

Roy looked up at his father, eyes possessing a dampness that hadn't been there. "Yes…thank you." Roy knelt once more as Eliwood fell silent, both father and son reflecting on their individual thoughts of the woman who helped change Elibe.

Roy sat cross-legged before the portrait for a quarter candlemark before exiting the room, bidding his father goodbye. As he watched his son leave, Eliwood smiled sadly as he looked out the window. "Ah…Ninian, if you saw how strong he was…you'd be so proud."

* * *

><p><em>April 25<em>_th__, 999 A.S._

As the political and militaristic center of Lycia, Ostia was the largest city within the League. Divided into ten districts based upon function and social standing, Ostia was efficiently organized to deal with any sort of crises that may arise. The first five districts were the living districts of the city and were based on social class, with the lower number designating a greater standing. The final five districts were the commercial and industrial districts, divided by wares and by prosperity. Naturally, in accordance with population size, the districts were not evenly divided – the boundaries of the district were based on economic prosperity. In the interest of fairness over a century ago, the ruling marquis had created the districts for taxing purposes.

Naturally, a city of Ostia's proportions required fortifications of impressive quality. Ostia met these needs through three impressive walls: the Marble Corridor, the Wall of Roland, and the Lion's Hold. These three defensive structures, along with Castle Ostia itself, helped to earn Ostia the prestigious title of the 'Impregnable City'. As the first of these vaunted defenses, the Marble Corridor snaked around the outside plains of the city, an early deterrent to those who would wish to take the capital city. Essentially a series of watchtowers linked by a medium-sized wall, the Marble Corridor was created to stall the encroaching forces to ready the Ostian force for the defense.

Containing the city of Ostia itself was the Wall of Roland. Named after the valorous founder of Ostia, the wall was the pinnacle of Elibean engineering. Standing over ten men in height and two in width, the wall was one of the greatest defensive structures on the continent. Created in an octagonal shape, eight mighty towers stood at the points of the wall. A large and protected gatehouse stood along the southern side of the wall, the only entrance to the city. The Wall of Roland remained open constantly, only to be closed when an enemy host was advancing on the city.

The final and greatest wall was the Lion's Hold. Standing the same height but greater thickness than the Wall of Roland, the Lion's Hold protected Castle Ostia itself. Armed with crenellations, arrow slits, and murder holes, the Lion's Hold was the last line of defense before the castle. As per General Leygance's orders, the Lion's Hold was sealed off until the return of Lord Hector of Lady Lilina. As Regent of Ostia, this power was wholly expected of the general.

As Bern encroached upon the eastern half of Lycia, Ostia experienced an influx of refugees and mercenaries. Although the Brotherhood of the Steel Guard was one of the most famed and capable fighting forces in Elibe, their ranks were not infinite. As Hector took most of the armored knights with him to Araphen, the walls of Ostia were left vulnerable to assault. In a time of peace, this would not be so worrisome; however, with turbulent times came proactive concerns. Seeing that Ostia was overflowing with men – which increased the pressure on the few remaining constables – General Leygance saw to the increase of Ostia's defenses by hiring scores of mercenaries.

However, this did not rectify the problem of peace. While Ostia's walls may have been safe, the city itself was subject to violence. With the increasing influx of refugees, the demographics of Ostia suddenly changed, creating a tension between peoples. Though all were Lycian, there were certain differences between the people that allowed for violence to erupt. Rivalries had long existed within the League, often replicating dissention between rulers; these rivalries often led to violence more times than not. In order to maintain the relatively shaky peace, the mercenaries were asked to put down the fights – often in violent methods.

This lack of discipline within the mercenary ranks was reflected by the little coin that they were paid with. In his effort to bolster the ranks of Ostia, Leygance had hired extensive numbers of mercenaries, reflecting in their relatively poor skills and discipline. It was well-known that a proper and well-paid mercenary could be the equivalent of trained knights, as evidenced by the Ilian knights and Pegasus riders. More often than not, a corps of well-trained Ilian knights could outperform four corps of undisciplined sellswords; it was with this train of thought that led Lord Hector to hire an elite Ilian company of cavaliers before his departure to Araphen.

Contracted in Lilina's name, rather than Hector's or Ostia's, these knights shone amongst the rabble that was gathered in Ostia. Led by a battle-hardened knight named Zealot, the mercenaries became well-known by the remaining Ostian knights. However, Zealot wished to be beyond the walls of Ostia, fighting in the bloodbath that was sure to be Araphen.

Sitting inside an inn called the _Iron Cauldron, _Zealot sighed. His white armor glinted in the lantern light as he shifted in his seat. Since his contract with Hector, Zealot and his fifty cavaliers had remained within the _Iron Cauldron_, with the bill coming from Ostian coffers. Despite the relative peace and security that staying within Ostia had, Zealot found himself itching for a chance to pay back Bern. Never forgetting the sight of Bern's royal standard flying above his beloved Castle Edessa, Zealot had pledged to work towards the liberation of his homeland.

Every few days, Zealot approached General Leygance in an effort to leave Ostia to fight alongside Hector. Although Leygance applauded Zealot's courage, he adamantly refused; the Ostian general allowed citizens to freely leave Ostia's walls, though he prohibited any of the mercenaries to leave the capital city. Insisting on keeping the city stacked with available warriors, Leygance refused Zealot's request time and again.

It was with these actions that caused Zealot's brooding. Although there were a few scuffles and fights that provided a little action, they were subdued thanks to the Ilian knights. However, Zealot was not content to remain a constable; he was an honorable knight of Ilia and he would be damned if he failed to have revenge for his country!

Beside him sat a slumbering knight, who was one of Zealot's most trusted lieutenants. The blonde-haired man chose to sleep his days away, in opposition to the popular arena-going of many younger knights. Treck was one of the few men Zealot had encountered who could fall asleep at any given moment – the veteran knight had once caught the man asleep in the saddle while marching! Despite his eccentric traits, Treck had a strong lance and a flowing sword in battle, causing Zealot to accept the man as he was.

"Commander," Zealot looked up to see Noah approaching, "how long have you been here?"

Just as Treck was eccentric and meandering, Noah was straight-edged and active. The two men had been comrades of nearly two scores of pitched battle, showcasing their skills and bravery as befitted a knight of Ilia. The two men worked well together, covering each other's weaknesses well; whereas Noah preferred to take the enemy as they came, Treck preferred to study their weaknesses and strike where he saw fit. In this sense, Noah managed to keep the enemy from surrounding the slower Treck, while the blonde knight covered Noah's blind spots.

"A few candlemarks." Zealot pulled a small envelope from the pouch at his side, setting it on the table. "I was reading Grant's letter."

"Grant's letter…? Ah." Noah's face flashed in a sympathetic sign. "A shame."

"Grant is gone?" Treck must have been slightly awake, for the words alerted him to consciousness. "How did he die?"

"During the Battle of Bulgar," Zealot frowned as he pocketed the letter, "Grant's company was ordered to charge at a Kutolah myrmidon who was holding a gate to stall Bern. His entire company was wiped out."

"By the gods…the entire company?" Noah shook his head sadly. "I would hate to face the man who cut them down. Grant was no novice with the blade…"

"Wait," Treck held up a hand, "do you two hear that?"

Zealot glanced out the window towards the street, face contorted. In the cobblestoned street, a procession of armor knights was marching; one of the knights hoisted the Ostian lion proudly into the air, much to the joy of the people behind them. As the crowd grew, a name was being chanted. "Who are they chanting for?"

A patron who had stood to look out the window turned to Zealot with a look of incredulity. "Are ye deaf? Turn yer ears!"

Sure enough, as soon as Zealot focus on the words that emitted from the crowd, the more his appetite for battle grew. Turning to Noah and Treck, the three shared a look of worry. The chant brought a renewed fear in their hearts and Zealot wondered if he'd have to leave Ostia to see battle.

The chant rung out loud and clear against the midmorning quietness of Ostia.

"_Lilina! Lilina! Lilina!" _

* * *

><p><em>April 25<em>_th__, 999 A.S._

Araphen had long been the pinnacle of trade within Lycia, Sacae, and Bern. Situated between the flowing rivers and the borders of the three nations, the Lycian city enjoyed the trade that accompanied such a vaunted position. This immense trade between three different cultures settled greed within the first marquis' heart. This greed was seemingly inherited, causing an uninterrupted line of stingy marquises who abused the inflow of money. Despite the self-serving policies of the marquises, every reigning marquis had set aside a significant amount of money to maintain and improve Castle Araphen. Their legacy was one of an enduring castle, able to repeal any army that had moved against it.

However, this was shattered by the current Bern host.

Utilizing a quartet of trebuchets, a score of ballistae, and two dozen onager and catapults, Bern had effectively cornered the Lycian force. Raining stone, wood, and carcasses upon the beleaguered defenders, Bern was able to assail the men within with the long range of the trebuchets. On the walls, Lycian archers were put down or forced to cover when large ballistae bolts and stones from onagers rained from the machines.

The siege was masterminded by Dragon General Brunya. After three candlemarks of vicious debating with General Narshen, Brunya's plan won out over Narshen's idea of frontal assault. By keeping all sides of Araphen under fire, Brunya was able to keep the defenders from firing upon the task force she had sent to the moat. Filling the water-filled trench with debris and garbage, the task force set the garbage alight. The smoke from the moat drifted into the faces of the defenders, blinding them as long as the task force fed the fire.

As if to compound the matters, Bern's able-bodied men pounded away at the main gate of Araphen with a battering ram. To prevent fire from being set to the ram, engineers had nailed wet animal skins to outside, essentially leaving the Lycian defenders with no potential way of stopping the assault. The most they could do was conserve their energy for the inevitable breakthrough.

Resting beside his sleeping horse, Edward of Caelin was doing just that.

While the pounding stone had frayed his nerves early on, the sound was now ingrained into his mind, almost soothing to his weary mind. As one of the lieutenants in the Caelin force, he had been responsible for the men's morale – a difficult task when one considered their situation. Despite this, Edward found his own morale surprisingly high. Although their castle was falling, Edward felt as though Lycia would survive this battle.

"Edward," the young man looked up as a woman approached him, "well met."

"Ah Eris. To you as well."

Eris was a knight in service to Caelin who was knighted ten years prior. A brunette of Sacaen and Ilian descent, Eris had showcased her skill to possibly one of the only Lycian houses that would overlook her heritage. Although Lady Lyndis of Caelin had been of Sacae, the other nobles of Lycia oft spoke harshly of the recently departed nomad – words that were never spoken in the presence of Marquises Hector or Eliwood.

Despite this unfavorable view of Sacaens, Stward Kent had knighted Eris after the young woman had demonstrated her abilities. The daughter of an Ilian mercenary and an outcast of the Djute clan, Eris inherited a legacy of warfare. Trained by both spear, bow, and sword, Eris' versatility was unequaled in the ranks of Caelin.

"What're you doin' just sitting around all alone?" Eris plopped down beside Edward, hand resting on his knee. "You should be mingling! I even hear that Thomas somehow got some ale from the quartermaster…"

"If he ends up tipsy," Edward clenched his teeth, "I'm going to break my foot off in his rear end."

"Lay off of him." Eris looked over at Edward with a frown; folding her arms under her breastplate, she shifted herself so that her back was against the small piece of rubble they were near. "He's not taking this easy…it is his first battle you know."

While Edward had fought in more than his fair share of bandit attacks and pirate raids as a Caelin knight, Thomas was entering battle for the first time. While sending a recently knighted cavalier to the frontlines was not prudent, Steward Kent had expressed his confidence in his son. Training the young man from the very young age of three, Kent and his wife had instilled in him techniques that had proven to be victorious time and again. "Yes but…I just wish he would take care of himself better."

You shouldn't worry so much. You'll end up like Sir Kent."

Edward sent a wry grin over to Eris, who chuckled in response. Although the man was well loved by all within Caelin, it didn't mean he wasn't the brunt of more than a few jibes! "Scowling, sighing, and limping? I end up doing that every time you and I go into Tornit!"

"Well…I…uh…" Eris stuttered before casting her head to the ground. Red rose on her cheeks as Edward chuckled at her, jabbing the woman with his finger. "Is it necessary to do that?"

"Yes." Edward cast a wry grin at her before he rested his arms behind his head. "I'm just trying to get my jabs in before…"

Eris nodded at the unfinished sentence. "Yeah…how's Shadowless taking it all?"

Edward patted the black horse on the haunches, grinning as it leveled a sleeping eye towards him. "Look at him. He may be the most comfortable out of all of us!" The Sacaen-bred stallion seemed to hear his master's comment for the horse craned its neck and snorted in Edward's hear. "Dammit…"

"Aw, poor Edw-"

A sudden breaking of metal silenced the woman. A large crash followed once more as the sound of metal grating against metal and wood caused Edward to stand suddenly; Eris followed his example, her eyes instantly darting for her horse. As if divining that the two stood, a mighty voice boomed throughout Castle Araphen through the smoke.

"_To Stations!"_

Edward whistled, causing the fearless horse beside him to stand. Grabbing his lance from the side of the saddle, Edward prepared to mount when Eris called his name. Turning, the younger knight smirked as his comrade held her right forearm up. Walking forward, Edward grinned at Eris. "Can't walk away without it, can you?"

"Nope." Edward tapped his right elbow to hers before pressing the outside of his fist to the outside of her own. "Take no quarter."

"And give none back." Edward nodded before the woman departed to collect her horse. Edward himself mounted Shadowless before speeding off towards his father, who was bellowing for the Caelin knights.

On the other side of the fortress, two commanders ordered their men into position. Marquis Arlon and Sir Paris arranged a defensive wall around the failing gatehouse. Only a few paces away, a furious ram battered away at the lone object separating the hungry Army of Bern from the brave Lycian defenders. Astride a white steed, Sir Paris ran along the front of the line; spearmen of Thria, Worde, Araphen, Ryerde, and Tuscany stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their large round shields raised before them. Slapping his sword against the top of their raised spears, Sir Paris yelled out to the men.

"Men of Lycia, evil is upon us! Darkness is charging at our gates and threatens our fair homeland! Will you allow these Bern bastards to take all that we hold dear?" A resounding chorus of 'no' followed at this as Paris held his silver sword in the air. "Noble countrymen, we are the greatest of the great! We are the elite of Lycia and we shall not go meekly into the night! Spears will snap, swords will crack, and shields will shatter, but we _shall not falter! _No longer are you men of Araphen or Thria or Tuscany: you are knights of Lycia, one and all! By the trueness of our hearts and the strength of our backs, let Lycia win this battle!"

If any Lycian knight had felt any doubt in the battle that was to come, they did no longer. The cry that emerged from the defenders was deafening, overcoming the pounding of the gate. Even when the last gate was stamped down by the charging Bern horde, the yelling persisted. It wasn't until the biting blades of the Bern soldiers clashed against the thick wall of shields that the defenders ceased the yell.

As soon as the gates gave way, team after team of Bern heavy cavalry charged through the new opening, stomping the earth flat under their mighty hooves. Attempting to secure a foothold within the mighty castle, the Bern cavalry wore heavy suits of plate mail that were astride large warhorses proved a tough match for the weary defenders. Nipping at the heels of the horsemen was a near horde of men-at-arms and spearmen, waiting to sweep into Castle Araphen. Heavily armored head to toe, the Bern elite brandished their heavy weapons, waiting for the order to charge. Behind enemy lines, the fabled wyvern lords of Bern assembled their vaunted wyvern corps, marshalling for a charge on the walls.

Despite the overwhelming numbers, sagging morale, and incoordination amongst the marquises, the defenders fought back with a hidden strength. Proving their might as Lycia's guardians, the soldiers fought to the last to force the Bern army back. Although squabbling was common, the lords of Lycia were not cowards; with the exception of Emerus of Kathelet and Rheims of Araphen, the various marquises assisted in the defense of the castle. Although they could not wield a blade, the lords stood along the outside of the keep, yelling for their champions to continue their valiant fight. Though small, this effort encouraged the already-resolved Lycians to increase their efforts.

Led by the gallant Sir Paris and the courageous Marquis Arlon, the defensive wall along the gate stood firm. Even Lycian soldier knew that if the line fell underfoot to the Bern encroachers, the battle would end. Bern's greater numbers could not be allowed to come into play – as long as the Lycians could kill two Bern men per dead Lycian, they could force Zephiel to flee Araphen. With the honor of Lycia at their backs, the valiant defenders managed to push the Bern forces back two paces before stalling.

However, the stalemate had to end; the Bern soldiers were fresh and rested, while the Lycians had endured three days of harsh sieging. Three candlemarks of bitter and intense fighting wore down the Lycians' bodies; although their resolve and determination was even stronger than before, their arms tired with the swinging of swords and axes. Many a fair man was felled by a sword – Lycian or Bern – never to return to their families. The dead lay trampled beneath the boots of both ally and enemy. Although the ranks of the Lycians dwindled half as fast as the Bern force, they were being gradually pushed back; the number of Bern soldiers within the castle swelled until they were equal to the Lycians in number. However, a surge in the Lycians would arrive.

"Rise, Knights of the Steel Guard! Rally to me!"

Roaring the time honored call of Ostia, Hector supplemented the wavering Lycian line. At the head of over one hundred and forty of Ostia's finest, the mighty Lord of Ostia bulled his way into the Bern forces. His mighty axe swinging left and right, Hector swept aside all those who stood before him. The Steel Guard, led by the aged but venerable Oswin, hastened to keep with their lord's furious pace, brushing aside sword strokes and arrows like harmless flies. When it seemed as if they would push the Bern forces back, Hector found himself surrounded on all sides.

Spears and swords pointed at Hector, all wanting to claim the life of Lycia's greatest warrior. He felt the tips of the spears and the blades of the sword, yet there were no openings within the tornado of fury that was Hector of Ostia. He spun and danced around clumsy axe blows, shouldered weak sword swings, and snapped extended lances with a swing of his mighty axe. The double-headed axe, known to all as Wolf Beil, earned more notches that day than in five years to be engraved upon its shaft. Fighting with the strength of fifty men and the heart of a thousand, Hector piled bodies around him, painting the ground in Araphen a bloody red. However, not even the mighty general was impervious; like all those he cut down, he was human and could be killed. As a spear approached from an angle he could not defend, Hector let out a roar of defiance, electing to die as a hero of men.

However, God was not ready for the Lion of Ostia.

"Fire!"

Three score of arrows flew into the enemy ranks; one bodkin arrow buried itself in the neck of the man who would have dared to strike down Hector. When the Bern forces looked to the walls above them, they were met with another volley of arrows. Those who were not felled by the shafts of death were greeted with lance and axe, quickly being hewn down by the valorous knights of Ostia. When a particularly curious Bern captain was alerted to the sound of chiseling, he moved to look up to the battlements. What awaited him were a dozen knights with crowbar and picks, chiseling away at two turrets that jutted from the side of the gatehouse. Used by the guards and the Araphen Marquis to look over his lands, the turrets could bury a considerable number of Bern knights if they were to fall. Gathering a dozen knights around him, the captain took to stop the knights when a knight garbed in dark green hopped off a dark horse, shooing the animal away.

"Lord Hector is a war god and I cannot equal him…" The man leveled a jagged lance towards the captain, "but I believe that Edward of Caelin can down you men without much difficulty!"

The knight was well-trained for the flurry of stabs, cuts, and swings that he released were evidence of superior training. Despite that, however, he was only one man and could not hold down thirteen men for long. Though he downed a quarter of the men-at-arms, he was not able to stand his ground; however, despite this, the knight seemed comfortable and did not panic. The captain understood why a few moments later; behind the small host of Bern soldiers, a crimson armored knight had maneuvered himself behind the group, striking them from behind. Caught between the flashing lance of green and the sturdy blade of crimson, the Bern forces fell to the two comrades.

Removing his helm for a moment, the green knight shrilly whistled, summoning his steed to his side. However, the call had other meaning. A charge was ordered from somewhere behind the man as thirty heavily armed cavaliers charged into the now-divided Bern force. Led by the venerable Green Lance, the Caelin cavalry surged through the Bern ranks, creating a swathe of death. Now separated into three sections by the charges of Ostia and Caelin, the Bern soldiers were falling rapidly to the scornful blades of Lycia. What sealed the doom of the Bern offensive were the Caelin knights upon the battlements.

Picking away at the stone turrets, the Caelin knights heaved with all their strength against the fortification. With the assistance of Sub-Commander Vossler, the Caelin knights succeeded in separating the turrets from the front of the gatehouse. As if guided by Elimine, the turrets fell towards the gate, crashing down in a heap of rubble and bodies, completely sealing the gate. Those who had noticed the swaying masonry had wisely fallen back outside the castle; however, the majority of the Bern soldiers were unaware of the death from above. The remaining Bern force, seeing their only hope of escape gone, increased their efforts tenfold. Like a cornered animal, the Bern fighters gave as good as they got, stewing the floor with ground with Lycian bodies.

However, even a cornered animal could not survive forever. Seeing their friends and brothers falling to the Bern force, the Lycian retaliated fatally. Marquis Arlon and Sir Paris, galvanized by Caelin's example, led the charge that led to Bern's demise. With Arlon and Paris pushed from the flanks and Hector as a rock in the middle, the Bern forces were caught between the vengeful Lycian hammer and anvil, crushed underfoot. With the fortunes of war turning against them, the besiegers gave a determined resistance before relinquishing their holds upon the world.

As the last Bern soldier fell to a Thrian spearman, Hector removed his helm. Quickly figuring an estimate, Hector had been surprised to learn that a little under four hundred Bern soldiers had forced their way into the castle. Though the Bern dragon had been driven out of Castle Araphen, there was no doubt that they were marshalling themselves for another assault on the castle. With one hundred and fifty Lycian soldiers dead or dying, Hector knew that Lycia had paid a dear price for the temporary victory.

"Lord Hector," Paris walked wearily to his half-uncle's side, "what shall we do with the dead?"

Hector leaned on his axe, sighing as he did so. He knew he would be judged for this, but it was necessary. "Cart our dead off, but pile the Bern corpses in the gateway. They shall have a hard time moving all of that stone and fully armored bodies."

"Of course." Paris relayed the orders to his lieutenant, who ran off hollering for his men to start on the task. Hector noted that despite the lack of most of the marquises, many of the soldiers moved in accordance with the commands of the different commanders. "I'm surprised their wyverns aren't flying over the walls to attack us."

"That's because we beat them off." Hector looked up as a bloodied knight walked towards the two; the Ostian general didn't recognize the man until Sain removed his helm. "We are lucky that Marquis Araphen had the _prudence _to install ballista platforms on the battlements. If he hadn't…I daresay we wouldn't have been able to fend off the wyverns."

"We have Caelin to thank once more, then, Sir Sain." Hector allowed himself to grin as Oswin walked towards the group; despite the blood that coated his armor, Hector would recognize the hulking form from any sort of distance. "It is due to your sacrifice that we managed to force Bern back."

"Speaking of sacrifices," Hector leveled a look to the other commanders, nodding as Arlon moved into the group, "do any of you have a tally on the death tolls?"

"We managed to down three hundred and sixty of theirs for losing one hundred and ninety of ours." Sain grimaced as a Paris and Arlon shifted with discomfort. "Most of our deceased are from Ryerde, Worde, and Tuscany – they were among the frontlines."

Paris made a cross over his chest as he muttered a silent prayer for the fallen. Looking up, the white armored knight grimaced as another Bern soldier was put out of his misery. His body joined the rest within the gateway. "What of the other marquises?"

"Last I remember," Hector looked up to the platform where the marquises had cheered on the defenders, "they were cheering for us. It…was pitiful and enraging but…I'd rather them do that and have their men see them than for them to be cowering in a hole."

"Lord Hector," Sain allowed a remnant of himself to emerge with a smirk, "you were wonderful. You were a rock upon which the Bern tide broke, My Lord."

"You were valiant as well. All of you were." Hector nodded to each of the commanders, who bowed their heads sheepishly. "Every soldier performed with honor and gallantry that would equal that of Roland. However…" Hector stared out towards the ruined gatehouse, "Bern shall be visiting us again this night."

"Do you believe so, Lord Hector?"

Hector nodded at Arlon, who was equipped with a thick tower shield and an impressive spear. "Yes. We sullied their pride and Bern is nothing if not prideful. No, they will attack throughout the night and unto the morrow, if need be."

"Yes, I can hear them digging through the blockade now." Oswin noted, causing all of the other commanding officers to turn their ears to the collapsed stone. Sure enough, on the other side of the stone pile, sounds of movement and chiseling could be heard as the Bern force attempted to break through. "We are on borrowed time, milords."

"Well, perha-" Arlon's words were cut off as a sergeant ran up to the men, bowing low. Wearing the colors of Tuscany, the man muttered his apologies for interrupting when Hector waved him. "Well," Arlon stared at the man, "speak man!"

"Sirs…" the man panted heavily, "the rear gate has been opened to Bern!"

"_What!_" Hector roared out, pounding his axe on the ground. "Who the devil opened the gates to Bern!"

"Emerus of Kathelet, My Lord!" The soldier bowed again before he glanced fearfully back to the rear gate. "My Lord…the general leading the force is…its King Zephiel!"

To the surprise of the five knights around him, Hector barked out a deep laugh. "Hahaha! So he finally shows his face!" Hector turned towards Sain, Paris, and Arlon, his face stony. "Sain, Paris, Arlon, take your commands and the commands of Tuscany and Kathelet and meet Zephiel! I shall be with you shortly!"

"At once!" The three knights darted away to their hoses, mounting them and speeding off. Hector could hear Sain's voice yelling for the valiant Caelin knights to rally to him; turning, Hector found himself facing Oswin, who leveled a look towards him.

"What is it?"

"I shall not lie, Lord Hector…" Oswin gripped the yellow-shafted spear in his hand. The veteran knight had claimed Rex Hasta after the death of Nergal, opting to use it to protect his city and liege. "Part of me wishes to face Zephiel in battle."

"Not yet, dear friend. We shall have ou-"

Hector never had the chance to finish his sentence. With a deafening rumble, the stone and Bern bodies within the gatehouse exploded inwards, burying more than a few knights. Those who were lucky enough to escape the explosion raised their shields and weapons on instinct, inching forward to meet this new enemy. What they saw was not what they expected.

Two red garbed men stood in the place of the former stone pile. Standing well over seven feet in height, they were devoid of any noticeable weapons, causing all but the Ostian knights to chuckle in laughter. However, this chuckling ceased once flames emerged from the men. Engulfing the robed figures, the fire spun round and round until their forms were no long distinguishable. However, to an experienced eye, one could tell that a phenomenal change was in the making.

The men's arms and legs elongated as the skin turned to scales and became blood-red in color. The men shook slightly before their torsos seemed to explode in size, stretching in length while their backs opened up with two slits. From the slits arose two wings, stretching outwards towards the world, seemingly eclipsing the sun. From their undersides, a tail emerged and whipped out into the castle wall, cracking the foundation with a simple flick. With a mighty roar, the robed men's necks elongated and their maws developed horrifying teeth; covered in scales as fire licked from their teeth, the scourge of Elibe's past emerged from the flames, staring down the Lycian defenders with a bloodthirsty look.

Oswin's eyes widened as his hold on his spear relaxed. "No…"

Hector's hands clenched Wolf Beil tight, teeth gritting in anger as he watched the nightmare of his past. Around him, the soldiers broke rank and fled in terror; although they would face even the greatest warrior without pause, the Lycian men were stricken at the sight of mankind's greatest enemy. A few, most notably Azelus of Araphen, attempted to stand against the behemoths before they were slain by tail or by mouth. With a simple slamming of a tail against the weakened castle wall, a dragon broke down the entire gatehouse, scattering the rubble with another flick of the tail. Hector could only look on in horror.

The Battle of Araphen was all but decided.

* * *

><p>When one of the Eight Heroes, Roland, settled in Lycia, all of his countrymen gathered around him. Crowning him as King of Lycia, the Lycians granted him reign over the scattered tribes and houses of the broken land. As Roland's rule lengthened, he sired many sons, all of whom wished to succeed the proud and mighty kingdom upon their father's death. In an effort to avoid a power struggle after his demise, the Little Knight appointed governors not of his blood to rule over the individual domains that his kingdom consisted of. By putting those who could not inherit the kingdom in control of armies, Roland hoped that a civil war could be avoided; however, after the death of the Valorous Knight, his plans imploded upon themselves.<p>

The regional governors either relinquished their power to the various heirs or were swiftly deposed by force. Claiming the governor's mansions as their bases, the land of Lycia was decisively split into sixteen halves. Ostia, Laus, Araphen, Pherae, Worde, Thria, Ryerde, Caelin, Santaruz, Kathelet, Tuscany, Badon, Tania, Cornwell, Targos, and Cerric; these sixteen individual dukedoms divided Lycia amongst themselves and attempted to lay claim. Whether these states would have existed independently and started their own nations is a hotly debated idea within Lycia; however, after the invasion of Ryerde by Laus, the incredibly brutal and bloody War of Sons was waged.

Gripping Lycia in a perpetual state of war for over six years, the War of Sons involved all sides of the conflict. Despite the constant warfare and turmoil, a clear victor did not emerge for many years. Often, battles could not be capitalized due to the victorious army needing to be called to defend the castle. However, not all of the dukedoms declared war; in the eastern half of Lycia, the dukedoms of Pherae, Caelin, Santaruz, and Kathelet maintained their neutrality, only rising to arms when their territory was encroached upon. The four neutral duchies blocked the dukedom of Tania from moving their armies, effectively locking the duchy. The constant stalemate was broken rather unexpectedly in the middle of the sixth year.

Suddenly, the duchy of Pherae declared support for Ostia; the duke of Pherae was a middle son of Roland who had favored diplomatic methods over that of force. However, the duke was a brilliant cavalry commander and it was through his tactics and training that Pherae's famed Order of the Hawk came into being. Combining their forces with Roland's Steel Guard, the Pheraen – Ostian force quashed all resistance to Ostia's claim. This partnership would last for nearly one thousand years and it strengthened through the blood that was shed during the war.

With Caelin, Santaruz, and Kathelet maintaining their neutrality, no other marquis was willing to withdraw their claim as Pherae did. Within the span of a few short months, Araphen, Tuscany, Thria, Santaruz, Kathelet, and Caelin withdrew their bids and bowed from the war. Though Worde and Ryerde allied in an attempt to cut Ostia from Pherae, they fell to the mighty allies after being split in two. After Laus witnessed the defeat of Worde and Ryerde, they begrudgingly submitted to Ostia. With only Badon, Cornwell, Tania, Targos, and Cerric remaining in the war, Ostia's victory seemed to be near. However, it did not stop the stout resistance from the five duchies. Cornwell and Tania fell first, defeated after their castles were besieged; unlike the other duchies that had been defeated, Cornwell and Tania had their armies dismantled and their lords executed. Wanting to end the bloodshed, Ostia hoped to cow the remaining duchies into submission – however, they were sorely disappointed.

The three remaining duchies allied themselves in an attempt to stop Ostia. However, Badon dropped from the alliance and submitted to Ostia. Through the military might of Pherae and Ostia, the Targos – Cerric coalition was defeated. Though Ostia granted pardon to Badon by dismantling its military and transforming it into a free city, the other two duchies had very different fates. Targos' and Cerric's lords were publically executed and their generals disgraced; Ostia had Castle Targos and Castle Cerric razed to the ground to prevent a revival of the duchy. Ostia had effectively claimed Lycia as its own.

Though the military battles had ended, the diplomatic ones proved just as challenging. While Roland had been proclaimed king, the duchies refused to grant Ostia such a right; while Ostia may have conquered them, they did not respect the duchy as sovereign. Further, during the war, the duchies had maintained and protected their independence, something they still wished for. In order to acknowledge Ostian supremacy and Lycian independence, the Lycian League was formed. Through a document known as the Lycian Covenant, the remaining duchies vowed to acknowledge and respect Ostian supremacy, attend councils held at Ostia at least four times a year, and to defend the common borders of Lycia.

In honor of this new Lycian League, a great wall was created around the city of Ostia. Though the Marble Corridor had existed since the time of Roland, the new walls would forever testify to the terrors of the War of Sons. Created as a memorial and a deterrent to the war, the wall was deemed the Wall of Roland. However, as complaints about the wall being around Ostia arose, the victorious Marquis of Ostia erected an even greater wall to show Ostian dominance over the League. It was with the Lion's Hold that Ostia silenced the near-rebellious marquises of Lycia.

Known far and wide as the Impregnable Castle, the walls of Lion's Hold helped to foster such a name. Twenty feet thick at its narrowest points, Lion's Hold was the embodiment of a perfect wall; with towers along every one hundred and fifty yards, no man or woman was able to draw close to the wall without being spotted by the guards that dwelled in the towers. With only one gate, protected by no less than four portcullises and an oaken drawbridge, the gatehouse of Lion's Hold was nearly impossible to break through. Surrounded by a moat that was fifteen yards deep, the walls of Lion's Hold were nearly impossible to scale or assault. Mounted on the towers and battlements, rotating platforms of ballistae, trebuchet, and onagers protected the walls from siege weaponry. Completed by arrowslits, murder-holes, and machicolations, the Ostian Steel Guard laughed off any word of an attempted assault on the vaunted walls.

The mighty gatehouse of Lion's Hold, given the unofficial name of the Lion's Jaws, typically remained open. In the past, the Marquis of Ostia would open the gates once a month to listen to the magistrates within Ostia's domain, bending his ear to their troubles and requests. However, under Marquis Uther, the visitations were expanded to every two weeks; the current Marquis of Ostia took even more drastic measures, holding public audiences weekly. Though his bodyguards constantly worried about his safety, Marquis Ostia laughed them off; if they had the gall to attack General Hector, then they were to be applauded! However, the current times could not allow for such liberal measures.

When Lord Hector departed with one hundred and forty of Ostia's finest, Lion's Hold had remained close to all except the hired swords and Ostian knights. As per Ostian law, only the reigning marquis, the heir presumptive, or the current regent could open or close Lion's Hold. With the return of Lady Lilina, Lion's Hold was opened to greet her on General Leygance's orders. As the Regent of Ostia, Leygance had held political control of Ostia; however, with the return of Lilina, Leygance no longer held a role besides that of general and advisor. Although the man was near the top of the Ostian hierarchy, he was not content to remain.

Born into a relatively poor merchant family, Leygance studied the ways of the knight from an early age. When the Tragedy of Cornwell arrived, Leygance's father had wisely predicted that House Cornwell's fortunes would decline. By investing his fortunes in Laus banks, Leygance's father made a fortune with Cornwell's collapse; putting a few of his opponents out of business, Leygance's father bought themselves into nobility. However, as was common throughout Elibe, the older nobles viewed new blood with disdain and contempt.

Leygance, using what little peerage he had, managed to move himself throughout the military ranks. Leygance's penchant for meticulous work was noticed instantly by his superiors; what little mistakes he created were covered by well-placed bribes. Using an effective combination of political savvy and physical strength, Leygance slowly advanced through the military echelon until he came upon the rank of captain. Under Lord Pellius, Leygance found his career stalled; it wasn't until the ascension of Uther that the man found his first break. Recognizing Leygance's capable administration capabilities, the Marquis of Ostia had promoted Leygance to knight commander and bestowed the office of advisor upon the man; however, Uther was ever vigilant with the man, deeming his ambition to be potentially dangerous.

Leygance's greatest chance of promotion came with the death of Uther and the ascension of Hector. Though Hector was a superior warrior and general than Uther, the older brother possessed a political savvy and diplomatic skill that Hector did not. As such, Hector did not possess Uther's tact in moderation; as the years passed, the new Marquis of Ostia relied more and more on Leygance until the day that the man was promoted to general. With the birth of Lilina, Hector named Leygance as Regent of Ostia; if Hector were to ever succumb to illness or perish in the field, Leygance was to assume control of Ostia until Lilina's coming of age at sixteen. Through his rise, Leygance realized that power was achieved through a fine line of political pressure, money, and skill.

However, the return of Lilina compounded his situation. Although the general was the Regent of Ostia, with the return of Lilina his position was moot. Leygance, with his virtual army of mercenaries, could attempt to take power by force if he so wished. However, to do so would be folly; even if the coup was successful, the populace would turn against him. Although Lord Hector could be rough-mannered and ferocious, he dearly loved his people and they returned that love with undying loyalty and appreciation of their own. No, Leygance knew that he would never be able to attain power within Ostia with pure force.

'_That is why strategy is called the game of kings.'_

Leygance barked out an order to the two guards that stood outside his door. The men departed for a few minutes before returning, a large man in orange armor appeared at the door. Gesturing for the guards to shut the door behind Devias, Leygance simply nodded as Devias bowed. "My Lord…"

"Fool!" Leygance's eyes widened in anger as he barked out towards his subordinate. "Do not call me that! I am no lord and if any hear you say that, then you shall be slain as a traitor!"

"I apologize, General." Devias frowned before leveling an eye towards his general. If General Leygance had wished to see Devias, he typically sent a lower ranking man; however, this time the general had sent his own bodyguards to fetch the knight commander. "You wished to see me…?"

"Yes," Leygance leaned forward as he rested his head on his hands, "let us see Lilina, shall we?"

As soon as the words escaped from Leygance's mouth, Devias knew this was the moment of choice. Despite his ambitions, Leygance had always made sure to cover his tracks – if he left any at all. Always referring to Hector and Lilina as Lord and Lady respectively, Leygance came across as the model knight. When the man had referenced Hector's daughter without an honorific, Devias knew the plan was being put into motion. "Of course sir." Devias nodded before exiting the office, Leygance directly behind him.

It did not take them long to reach Lilina. Every occasion that Lady Lilina left and returned to Ostia, she paid a visit to Lord Hector's study, regardless if Marquis Ostia was within the castle or not. Within the study was a porcelain bust of Florina, the deceased wife of the marquis. Coupled with a magnificent portrait in an unknown location, they were the only two remnants of the beloved Lady Florina. Standing outside the doors was Sir Bors, vigilant as ever. As Leygance passed the armored knight, he noticed that the golden knight commander leveled a glare at him.

"Lady Lilina," Leygance bowed low, "it is good to see you in good health."

Outside of the door, out of Sir Bors sight, a small group of knights were gathering in accordance with Leygance's plans. While Lilina had been absent from the castle, Leygance had slowly bribed or replaced the knights in the castle with those who were loyal to him, creating a castle full of conspirators. With the notable exceptions of knight commanders Barth and Bors, Leygance had placed Castle Ostia under his thumb. Of the five knight commanders – four of which were within Ostia at the moment – Leygance had the complete loyalty of two: himself and Devias. This created tensions between the remaining two knight commanders.

"Greetings, General," Lilina turned and smiled in greeting, "what prompted you to come here?"

"I wish only to extend my greetings and express relief on your return across dangerous territory." Leygance smiled widely as Bors suppressed the urge to growl at the man. "If you wouldn't mind this lowly servant to inquire a question of milady?"

"Of course, General."

"Forgive me for being frank, Lady Lilina, but will you resume the regency at once?" A sidelong glance at Bors told Leygance that the armored knight was narrowing his eyes. He heard Devias shift behind him.

"Well, I uh…" Lilina stammered softly, "I suppose so. But…"

Leygance raised a thin blonde eyebrow at the young bluenette. "What is it, milady?"

"During the march here, I counted at least a dozen mercenary companies." Lilina frowned as she glanced at Bors; noticing that the man seemed to be increasingly edgy, she continued. "Why does Ostia need so many mercenaries to man its walls?"

"Well, milady," Leygance took a step backwards, "security has been steepened as of late. A recent spree of murders has thinned the mercenaries' ranks. I have simply been attempting to boost their numbers. With your return, we could send those men to Lord Hector's side."

Although Leygance could stretch the truth, he knew when it was prudent not to lie. Since the influx of mercenaries that were hired by Leygance, a string of murders had occurred. Early on, the Regent of Ostia had paid little heed to it, deeming it unimportant. However, the killings continued and began to stack; they started to deplete the number of men available to Leygance's beckoning.

"Yes, but…" Lilina tapped her chin with a thin finger, "with Sir Bors retinue returning with me, combined with Sir Barth's knights and pages, that's nearly seventy full-fledged knights and two score squires. With your command as well, that leave Ostia with nearly one hundred armored knights."

"Yes, however…" Leygance ran a hand through his thinning hair, "I believe that the heightened security is necessary, don't you think so Devias?"

The portly man nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely milady. This killer…he is ruthless."

"Yes, he is." Leygance turned his hawk-like eyes on the girl. "I believe you should remain within the castle, milady."

"Ah, but I must address the people if I am to resume the regency."

"I could issue verdicts in your name, milady…" Leygance let the sentence hang, hoping that he could convince the girl to play into his hand. As ambitious as he was, it left a vile taste in his mouth to work against such innocent children.

"Hold there, General." Bors strode forward beside Lilina, face stony. "May I ask you a question?"

Leygance eyeballed the novice mage, who looked up at Bors with hopeful eyes. "Of course…Sir Bors."

"According to my sister Wendy, supplies and food prices have skyrocketed. Supplies are rare and unavailable. If those men would march to Lord Hector's aid, where would you find those supplies?"

"Why," Leygance's eyes narrowed in suspicion, "it is all a ma-"

"Further, General," Bors strode forward, his hand gripping on his lance, "why are these mercenary bands contract to _your _name and not Ostia's or Lord Hector's? Under those terms, you are raising an army…that is equivalent to treason, General. I trust you have an explanation for this!"

"…you're too astute for your own good, Bors. Guards," the soldiers from the hall assembled within the room, to Lilina and Bors' horror. Leygance gestured to Bors with disdain. "Take this…peasant to the dungeons!"

"On my death, traitor!" Bors darted forward, lance raised to strike down the man who would dare to betray Hector.

However, Leygance did not advance through the military due only to bribes and persuasive speaking. Seizing Devias' spear from the man's hands, the general swatted Bors' lance aside before striking the knight with an armored fist. The golden soldier stood firm against the left hook before stabbing forward with his lance once more. Leygance caught the spear by the shaft and jerked Bors forward; dropping Devias' spear, Leygance snapped his arm forward towards the man's face. Bors' head snapped backward as the violet armored general's fist connected firmly with the Ostian knight's jaw.

Watching in terror as her guard fell to the ground unconsciously, Lilina clenched her fists towards Leygance. "Leygance! I order you to desist!"

Leygance allowed himself to smirk as he motioned Devias forward. "Devias, take this hulk to the dungeons." As Devias moved to Leygance's orders, the blonde general grinned towards Lilina. "Lady Lilina, it is a shame that you are so intelligent. Far too observant. And a shame that Bors raised his hand against a superior officer…a court marshal may find him to be hanged for this action."

"It is you who will hang, Leygance! When my father returns, you shall be strewn across the gallows, traitor!"

"Oh?" The general strode forward, hand resting upon the bust of Florina. "It is a shame that your father married a weak Ilian _wench._" Leygance raised the bust and tossed it across the study, watching Lilina's face pale as it shattered against the wall. "Hector shall never arrive from Araphen! He shall fall to King Zephiel!"

"Enough!" Lilina screamed as hot tears began to sting at her eyes. "I will hear no more of your vile words, traitor!"

"Careful, Lady Lilina…" Leygance strode forward and grasped her thin hand in his own, resisting as she attempted to pull away. "It would be a shame if you tried to…usurp me. With these mercenaries and Sir Devias at my side…Ostia is mine to control, fair Lilina. Now…" Leygance leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead, "I bid you to sleep on these thoughts."

The hawkish general turned on his heel and exited the room, gesturing for Devias to follow. Behind him, he could make out the strangled sounds of sobbing as Lilina collapsed to her knees, tears running down her face. Although he resisted the urge, Leygance felt a small smile threatening to appear on his face. "Devias."

"Yes, sir?"

"Post two guards at Lady Lilina's door at all times. She is not to leave her bedchambers, ever."

Devias nodded at this. "What shall I do with Lio? He was to report to Lord Hector once Lady Lilina returned."

"Detain him." Leygance finally let the smile poke through as he looked at the knight beside him. "After all, there's no use in letting him be eaten by some lizards, is there?"

Sharing a chuckle, the two men walked down the hall towards Leygance's office, likely to celebrate. Knowing that many of the knights around them were of their own, the two men openly discussed their plans.

'_And that only makes my job easier…'_ The sandy haired man thought to himself as he spied on the two. _'It's time I make myself known.'_

* * *

><p><em>Somewhere Within Kathelet,<em>

_I believe that, if I were ever apply one phrase to all of my campaigns, it would be: 'What Have I Gotten Myself Into?' Certainly, that applies to this as well. Imagine my surprise when Princess Guinevere, of all people, stumbled onto me! I believe I held my composure slightly better than I did when Lyndis found out about her peerage; when Kent and Sain had revealed her heritage to her and I, I believe I nearly fainted…not that anyone could blame me. Two knights, a noble, and a novice tactician trying to take on an usurper with an army at his back? Ridiculous._

_Even as I journey the short distance with Princess Guinevere, I can't help but think of the deaths that are going to come. Despite my trade, I've never been a fan of death; however, it is a necessary evil in war. I should deal with it alright…I think. Just like Lord Hector told me when he ascended the throne all those years ago: easy to say, but I'm sure it's going to be difficult. Unlike the tasks I have taken in the past, this shall be so much grander…even the Campaign of Fire will seem like a small battle compared to what is going to come._

"Master Mark," the brown haired tactician looked up, "what is that you are writing?"

"Oh, this?" Mark waved the worn journal in the air, ignoring the title that Guinevere gave him. Despite his constant protest, the princess seemed adamant to refer to the man as 'Master'. "A journal."

"A journal?" Ellen blinked a few times from where she was sitting. The three companions were gathered around a small fire, attempting to stay warm. They had traveled for a little under two days through the rolling hills and forests to emerge on the relatively flat plains of Kathelet. "Are you an author, Master Mark?"

"Only if you count the ramblings of a crazy tactician to be a book, then I suppose so." Mark allowed himself to smile, trying to hold his manners. Mark had never been one for proper etiquette or mannerisms though he understood the importance of place and time. He had heard enough complaints from various retainers over the years to know that he was blunt and somewhat disrespectful on the field. "They are mostly my personal thoughts on the many journeys I have been on."

"Ah, I see." Guinevere nodded before frowning. It was only through Mark's words that Guinevere had started to doubt the course she had taken. Though the intelligent strategist had been supportive of her as she stumbled into a different world than she had known, Mark had not outwardly proclaimed his support for her mission. Although it was clear that the man was much more different than most people she had met, she could not help but be puzzled by his opinion. "Master Mark," the brown haired man looked over from Ellen to the princess, "pardon me for asking, but do you disagree with my mission?"

"Disagree with it? Absolutely not. Doubt it? Yes." At Guinevere's questioning look, the Famed Genius continued. "Wars cannot be stopped by words, Princess. Though a man may be able to forestall violence with words and promises, it is inevitable to stop war through diplomacy. It is only through force that one can stop this war. Only might can stop might, Princess."

"Violence begets violence Master Mark," Guinevere pointed out, "to answer violence with violence to stop violence is hypocrisy!"

"If words could halt the ambitions of kings, then many a war would not have happened." Mark sniffled as he ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair. "The War of Sons, the Ilian Revolts, the Subjugation Wars…all could have been avoided if words could persuade men from the course of war."

"Yes but…those wars had other goals behind them." Guinevere folded her hands as Ellen watched interestedly. The cleric had often watched her lady debate with a few of the royal advisors and, most notably, Prime Minister Orer. "My brother's current actions have no goals other than conquest! The War of Sons was over a dynastic dispute, the Ilian Revolt over the tyranny of rulers, and the Subjugation Wars were to purge the Western Isles of pirates…this war is just my brother's ambition."

"Then why haven't words halted King Zephiel?" Mark cleared his throat as the smoke from the fire drifted to his face. "Surely, as his sister, you have a large part of his ear. Surely, you have spoken to him regarding this war; if he has not listened to you personally, then why would he listen to others?"

This caused Guinevere to falter. It was Mark's words like these that had caused her to falter mentally over the past few days. After a few moments, Guinevere found that her voice was working once more. "Yes but…but perhaps I just wish for peace. I know not what I can do to help in this manner and this was the only thing I believed I could do."

"Pease…so earnestly sought yet so difficult to obtain." Mark sighed. "I believe that peace is an absurd concept, Princess. There is never truly peace; during times of 'peace' we arm ourselves to maintain it. During times of war, we fight to achieve it. Then again…" Mark smiled at the two women, "I may be biased."

"Why is that, Master Mark?"

"Because, Sister, I benefit from war and from violence." Mark glanced over towards the brown bag that sat close to the fire, yet far enough that it would not catch alight. "I am a man of war, a person who earns a living by sending men to die. My skills lie in war…I know nothing else." Guinevere moved to replied when Mark's hand shot up to silence her. Frowning, Mark pressed an index finger to his lips before burying the fire under the loose earth around them.

Off in the distance, Guinevere could hear the sounds of stomping. As women who mostly remained within Castle Bern, the noise was unfamiliar to Ellen and Guinevere. To a man like Mark, who had commanded over two hundred battles, the sound was a telltale sign. The large clattering off beating hooves could signal only one thing: cavaliers. Noting by the intensity of the pace, Mark estimated that there were at least one score of horsemen, if not more. The afternoon sun had disappeared behind a thick blanket of clouds, casting no shadows on the ground; Mark contemplated fleeing across the plains when a flash of silver caught his eye.

Raised on an azure background, the silver hawk of Pherae spread its wings wide. Carried by a knight on horseback, the sight caused Mark to grin. Ignoring the questioning look that Guinevere sent his way, Mark strode forward onto the trodden path; raising his hands high, he gestured for the lead knight to cease his gallop. The knight, clad in blazing red armor, slowed to a halt, raising his hand to stop the men behind him.

"Ho, fair traveler! What is it that you seek of the knights of Pherae?"

"I seek your commander, sir knight!" Mark gestured off to the side, where Guinevere and Ellen waited silently. "I have two noble ladies who wish to meet with your leader."

"If you do not mind me inquiring," the man removed his helm to reveal a youthful face topped with red hair, "but who are you, milady?"

"I…" Guinevere stepped forward and looked at Mark, who nodded. "Am Guinevere of Bern. I wish to meet with Marquis Pherae."

The knight's eyes widened at the sight of Princess Bern. Despite this, he bowed in his saddle before replying. "I fear that you shall not be able to meet with Marquis Eliwood; he is gravely ill and is unable to hold council. However…" the knight gestured to the direction they rode from, "his son, Master Roy, is the commander of this force. Shall I take you to meet him?"

"Yes. I am thankful for your service, Sir…?"

"I am named Alan, Princess." The knight saluted sharply. "I shall escort you to Master Roy." Turning to Mark once more, Alan raised an eyebrow at the weathered man. "I take it that you are a servant of milady?"

To Alan's surprise, the man shook his head. Looking towards him with hard eyes, the man tucked his green cloak closer around him as he replied. "No. I am a man who has much to offer to your liege…assuming he accepts, of course."

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><p>During the Scouring, the mighty fire-breathing dragons had nearly razed all of Elibe to the ground. After the defeat of the dragons, Elibe had been hard pressed to rebuild. Despite the difficulties that awaited them, the legendary Eight Heroes reconstructed the devastated land and commissioned many memorials to the memory of those who had perished. Despite not bearing the name of memorial, Castle Araphen was one of these. Ordered to be constructed on the ashes of a village that had been destroyed by a dragon, Araphen rose from the ashes of death.<p>

Now, in the rising of man's legendary and seemingly-lost enemy, it seemed Araphen would die in fire once more.

Standing in the ruins of the once-magnificent tower, the twin fire dragons roared to the heavens. The moment the dragons had entered Araphen was the moment that the battle was sealed; with the twin behemoths guarding the front of the castle and King Zephiel storming the rear, Lycia's first and greatest line of defense was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Of the near two hundred knights that lined the front defense, only one hundred remained standing. All of these brave and valiant knights bore the crest of Ostia, with none of them breaking rank and fleeing. Upon the sight of the Steel Guard, stalwart and stiff against the sight of the dragons, the beleaguered defenders attempted to rally.

However, this rally was doomed from the start. Although the legends of yore spoke of the tremendous power that dragons possessed, none of the men knew how to engage the beats or how powerful they really wore. With the notable exceptions of three veteran knights, the defenders of Lycia knew not what they faced. Though they stood tall against the behemoths, the defenders were soundly thrashed by the fire dragons. Breathing the fires of hell upon the knights, the dragons roasted half of the non-Ostian knights to ash; those who were not cooked alive were left to be trampled and flattened by claw and tail. At the sight of the mesh of body parts strewn around the dragons' feet, the men of Lycia paled. When the dragons roared for more challengers, all men, including the knights of Ostia, stepped backwards nervously: all except two men.

Hector and Oswin of Ostia stood still, their eyes locked with the large golden orbs of the dragons. With Wolf Beil in Hector's hands and Rex Hasta in Oswin's the two men found themselves facing their past. The largest difference, however, was notable: instead of Wolf Beil, though it was a brilliant axe, Hector had wielded the superior Thunder Axe, Armads. Despite the change in weaponry, the two mighty knights did not waver in the slightest.

"Lord Hector," Oswin's voice was heard clearly as the man removed his helm, "it has been an honor to serve alongside you."

Hector removed his own helm; though the piece of metal would provide protection against normal opponents, it would do nothing but hamper Hector's vision in the upcoming struggle. "Don't speak like that Oswin. The battle is far from over; we've done this once and emerged victorious, we can do this again."

"Of course My Lord. Forgive my negativity." Oswin tossed aside his shield as the dragons noticed the two men for the first time; the two knights were the only ones, including the now-arriving Bern soldiers, who did not cower at the sight of the dragons.

"You know, Oswin," Hector's breathing was deep and heavy, "I'm still stuck here looking at your mug."

"If you have been able to bear it for this long, Lord Hector," Oswin allowed a small smile to appear as he started to jog towards his mightiest opponent, "then I see no problem with it for a little while longer."

No more words were spoken as dragon met man. Although aged, Oswin of Ostia had never felt more powerful than he did now. Watching as the dragon's tail moved from behind the behemoth, Oswin darted forward, avoiding the slapping tail by less than a pace. As he advanced on the dragon, Oswin noted that the other seemed to be more than pleased to let its brother take on the venerable warriors – something that would cost the dragon dearly.

Hector sprung into action, axe swinging with his momentum. As the dragon lowered its head to Hector's level, undoubtedly to try and devour the man, the mighty Wolf Beil slashed across a large white eye. Howling in pain, the dragon's head shot up in pain as crimson blood splattered on the ground in puddles. Seeing their chance, Oswin and Hector thrust upwards – Hector with an unsheathed armorslayer and Oswin with his Rex Hasta – into the dragon's unexposed neck.

Though the battle had been fierce, the men who had dealt with the fire dragon summoned by Nergal had found the critical spots to strike at: the eyes and the underside. Both were unprotected by the thick scales that ran along the dragon's length, which rendered most weapons unusable. Even the softer underside of the dragon was impervious to weaker weapons; only armor piercing weapons or those of superior quality metal had a chance of penetrating through the first layer of hide.

The dragon howled for a moment until Oswin drove his lance deeper into the foe. Whether by sheer luck or perfect positioning by Oswin, Rex Hasta severed the dragon's spine. Although beats of great ferocity and might, dragons possessed the same structure as most animals did, granting the two knights a greater idea of how to attack. The dragon roared before falling to the earth, where it whimpered pitifully as Oswin withdrew his lance; Hector's Wolf Beil lay a few feet away, tossed by Hector in his rush to draw his armorslayer. Oswin felt a small satisfaction grow in his chest until an overwhelming rush of pain overtook him.

Looking to his torso, where the pain was rushing from, Oswin saw that large white teeth were clamped down around him. As the two knights were engaging its brother, the second dragon had darted behind their unprotected backs, ready to strike as soon as it could: unfortunately for Oswin, it was able to before he was able to notice. Watching as Hector claimed his axe in a hurry, the Lord of Ostia swore loudly; however, the yell sounded dull and subdued to Oswin, who realized his time had run out. Feeling his arm move as the dragon shook him lightly, Oswin felt Rex Hasta begin to slip out of his grip.

"Lord Hector…" Oswin looked up weakly as the mighty general darted towards Oswin. "Forgive me for being caught unawares…" The knight commander coughed as blood started to flow from his mouth as his body was crushed. At the sight of his valued companion, Hector's eyes widened in outrage. "It has…b-been an honor…to serve you…" Using what little strength he had left, Oswin tossed Rex Hasta a short ways away, the thick point burying itself in the ground. Hector had yet to reach dragon and knight and Oswin knew he was going to die in the jaws of this beast. _'Let my spear serve you even after death My Lord…'_

As if divining his thoughts, the fire dragon lifted Oswin into the air as the teeth tightened. Despite the crippling pain, Oswin did not cry out – he would not show weakness to an enemy, even in death. With a mind-numbing crack, Oswin's armor and spine snapped in half as the mighty retainer was torn asunder by the jagged teeth. With the audible sound of snapping jaws, the dragon devoured Hector's most valuable retainer in one bite.

With that, Sir Oswin, friend of Lord Hector, Knight Commander of Ostia, the legendary Impregnable Knight, joined the list of Lycian martyrs.

With an outraged howl of fury, battle-lust, and grief, Hector of Ostia charged forward, dust being turned up by his pounding footsteps. Although dragons were creatures of intellect, they were also beasts; thus, when a kill was made, the beasts celebrated in an animal fashion. Roaring its kill to the sky, the dragon stood no chance against the Lion of Ostia. Mighty axe flashing in a deadly arc, Hector's Wolf Beil connected with the underside of the dragon's neck. Feeling a sharp biting pain, the dragon attempted to look downwards but its fate was sealed.

In a crest of blood, the dragon's gigantic head was severed, separated from the rest of its body. Before the stunned eyes of the assembled Bern soldiers, Hector stood alone in the rain of blood that sprayed from the decapitated dragon. Although the Lycian knights had long since retreated to the relative safety of the citadel, the Bern forces were more intent on staying their hand than ever. Drenched in dragon blood, with Wolf Beil in his right hand and the recently-grabbed Rex Hasta in his left, Hector, Lion of Ostia, let out an otherworldly roar. Staring the four hundred Bern soldiers in the eyes, Hector issued his challenge.

"_Any of those who would challenge me, step forward!"_

Although the Bern offensive had stalled at the main gate, the same could not be said of the rear. Led by Zephiel, mighty King of Bern, the Bern Army poured into Castle Araphen, cutting down the unorganized and scattered resistance within. It was not until the arrival of Marquis Arlon and Sirs Paris and Sain that the Lycian defenders rallied. Fighting with strength and honor, the Lycian force attempted to stem the tide but was met with little success.

In a desperate gamble, the commanders issued an all-out charge; if successful, the Lycians could push the Bern force back into the gate, where they could stall the attack by bottling the Bern force. However, if they failed, the entire rear of the castle would fall to Bern, which would spell death for Castle Araphen. The defenders' only hope lay in the chance they could regain the gates and push Bern back. However, with Marquis Emerus' betrayal, the Bern force had managed to swarm the gates before they were met by Lycia; with nearly three hundred men within the gate, Bern was able to meet Lycia's charge with pure numbers. However, Marquis Arlon led a valiant charge through the middle. Like the middle point of a trident, Arlon's force extended the furthest inward, nearly splitting the Bern force in twain. What the Lycians did not count on, however, was the mighty King of Bern to personally lead the assault.

Commonly called the greatest swordsman of his age, King Zephiel shone like a star on the battlefield. Cutting down the Lycian soldiers, none seemed to stop the brilliant King of Bern as he carved a swathe of blood in the Lycian ranks. As he single-handedly pushed Marquis Arlon's force back, the Lycian elite seemed to falter before Zephiel. However, straight and true Arlon stood ready to the task. Armed with his thick tower shield and heavy spear, Marquis Arlon was the only man amongst his command who would meet Zephiel.

Leveling his spear towards King Bern, Arlon crouched behind his shield. "O Might King of Bern, it is an honor to fight against you!"

"You would raise arms against me?" Clasped in his hands, Exaccus shone in a red light against the sun.

"Although I shall not win this fight against Your Highness, it is my duty as a knight to defend my lands! Old and humble I may be, but I am a knight of Lycia to the last!" Arlon charged forward as Zephiel nodded.

"I shall grant you a quick death for your bravery." Zephiel raised Exaccus to meet Marquis Santaruz.

"You are too kind, Majesty!"

Arlon stabbed forward with his spear four times towards Zephiel's head; though the blows were quick, Zephiel was quicker. Deftly moving his head to dodge the stabs, Zephiel seized Arlon's lance on the last stab, snapping the head of the spear off with his hand. Startled by the pure strength of Bern's king, Arlon could only watched as Exaccus pierced his shield; wood, iron, and bone were splintered as the tip of Exaccus emerged through Arlon's left arm, causing the man to yell out. Yanking the shield from Arlon's grasp, the Divine Weapon sheared through plate mail and skin as Exaccus plunged through Arlon's belly. Zephiel tore the sword to the right, effectively carving out the left side of Arlon's body.

Watching as Arlon's bloody corpse fell to the ground, Sain screamed out in rage. "Knights of Lyica, remember Marquis Arlon as a hero! Now charge! Push those Bern bastards back!"

Sain of Caelin and Paris of Thria fought like demons to beat back the Bern advance. Alongside them, astride on their warhorses, the sons of Sain and Kent stabbed, slashed, and hacked their way through the Bern ranks, trying in vain to stall the advance. Fighting for over a candlemark, the Lycian defenders were forced into a small pocket, fighting shoulder to shoulder, horse to horse. Outnumbered at least seven to one, the elite of Lycia continued their futile struggle. In an effort to relieve the force, Sir Thomas of Caelin led three valiant Caelin horsemen in a suicide charge towards Zephiel.

Ignoring the calls of Sain to fall back, Thomas raised his sword to Zephiel's head. "Zephiel," in a voice that belied his age, Thomas screamed to the King of Bern, "I shall take your head and stop this invasion!"

"_You shall not bar my path!" _Gripped in both of Zephiel's strong hands, the Sword of Bern flashed once horizontally. Decapitating his horse, Thomas' body was cut in half as Exaccus severed bone, muscle, and skin; the son of Kent fell to the ground in two halves, name added to the list of fallen Lycians.

Howling in pain and grief, Sain doubled his efforts to press on. Hearts burning in rage as Bern soldiers stopped to pluck the gold and silver from Thomas' armor, Sain and Edward became a tornado of thrusting, slashing, and screaming. Around them, Bern soldiers were felled by the dozens, yet Lycia's numbers thinned until there was less than a score alive.

"Live to fight another day, Lycia! We shall have our vengeance!" Issuing the order to retreat, the men followed Sain in the charge for the citadel. Though over a quarter died in the breakneck pace towards the safety of the citadel, the surviving Caelin and Thrian men passed into the inner castle, hearts heavy. A small group of Bern invaders charged after the dozen knights, intent on capturing them. The King of Bern, however, did not head towards the citadel and the throne; instead, the warrior king moved to the front of the castle to fight another notable individual.

With Arlon and Oswin's deaths and Sain's retreat, there remained no capable commanders to rally the League. Both front and rear courtyards had fell to Bern soldiers as more purple clad soldiers poured into the castle. With what remained of the Lycian army falling back to the citadel, only one man had the courage, ferocity, and audacity to slay two fire dragons and stare four hundred of Bern's finest in the eye and not waver.

The Bern Army knew that Hector was killable; like all of them, he was indeed human and could die. However, after watching the mighty General of Ostia slay two _inhuman _opponents who were more than quadruple his size, the Bern soldiers faltered. There was no doubt that the Marquis of Ostia would fall: it was just a matter of how many men he would take with him. After having already witnessed Hector slay dozens of Bern soldiers, no soldier in Bern wished to engaged the man; unlike Lycia, who possessed valiant knights capable of meeting any man head on, the forces at the front gate had no man who possessed the skill and talent capable of single-handedly killing the Lord of Ostia.

"I believe I should step forward," a voice sneered from above, "Hector of Ostia, you're a dead man!"

Instinct overcame Hector as he dropped Wolf Beil. Grabbing Rex Hasta with both hands, Hector looked up as a blonde haired wyvern lord plunged downward, sword raised to kill. With few seconds to spare, the General of Ostia pointed the lance's wicked point towards the Dragon General; Narshen's face contorted as he forced his wyvern to move to the side lest the rider was impaled. Unfortunately for the arrogant Dragon General, Rex Hasta's tip plunged into the chest of his wyvern. The sudden stop of momentum caused Narshen to fly from the saddle, landing painfully on the ground of the courtyard. Narshen's wyvern, however, was impaled to the end of Rex Hasta's shaft, instantly killing the beast; the impact and force had pushed Hector back, the mighty knight not failing to hold his ground.

"Rorix!" Narshen's face was enraged as he looked as his wyvern's corpse. Charging forward with his magical sword in hand, Narshen screamed out to the world in anger. "I shall butcher you, Hector!"

"I'd like to see you try!" Unarmed but still very capable, Hector stopped Narshen's sword by grabbing the man's wrist. Snapping his armored fist into the man's face, Hector used his knee to strike Narshen's torso. Winded, the man attempted to step backwards when a large elbow crashed into the man's nose. Sent sprawling across the earth, Narshen moved unglamorously across the ground in an attempt to escape the Lord of Ostia; fortunately for the Dragon General, another challenger had approached Hector.

"Hector of Ostia."

Turning on his heel, Hector was not surprised to see the King of Bern standing before him. Though he had seen Zephiel once or twice in the past twenty years, he did not recognize the dull eyed man before him. "Zephiel. You've changed in these past twenty years. I hardly recognized the boy from the night of the coming-of-age ceremony."

Zephiel's haunted eyes widened slightly before resuming their normal stare. "We did not know who had been involved that night. I would imagine you would have acted differently then had you known what would happen."

"You're correct of course. However…" Hector glanced towards his discarded axe, "I can still rectify my mistake."

"You shall not be able to fight my king!" Narshen had stood, angry welts across his face. His blonde hair was askew and poked out oddly, giving the man a very disheveled appearance. "You have lost, Hector! King Zephiel needs not listen to those who lost!"

"Which is why you should be silent, Narshen." Zephiel looked at the Dragon General coolly, who slinked backwards. "Be silent and watch, Narshen." Holding Exaccus before him, the King of Bern nodded to Hector. "Grab your axe, Marquis. We shall fight like warriors."

The General of Ostia raised Wolf Beil before charging forward, axe meeting sword. At first glance, the combatants were mighty opponents and were roughly even in skill. Both men wore giant suits of plate mail and were proven champions both on the field and in tourney. However, a more experienced knight would notice a few more differences. While Zephiel had fought for a little under a half a candlemark, Hector had been fighting the Bern elite for over four. The largest difference between the two were their weapons, however. Wolf Beil, crafted by the greatest blacksmith in Etruria, was one of the mightiest weapons within Elibe, possibly superseded only by the Divine Weapons. However, Zephiel's weapon was _the _Exaccus, one of those very Divine Weapons. Both Hector and Zephiel knew that one clean blow by the triangular blade would down Hector; the Lord of Ostia's greatest chance was to strike clean at Zephiel and hope for an opening, all while dancing around the blade.

Axe met sword multiple times as both men moved to outdo the other. As the duel drew into its second candlemark, Marquis Ostia slowed. Tired and worn by his numerous victories in the day, Hector's strength finally failed him. After blocking a chop from Zephiel, Hector spun to the left when his leg gave out under the immense weight of his armor. Realizing his fate. Hector closed his eyes as Exaccus plunged for his chest.

'_Lilina…Florina…Forgive this foolish and stubborn man…'_

As Exaccus removed itself from Hector's chest, the man grunted. The Lord of Lycia had accepted his fate twenty years ago when he had once held Armads in his hands. Durbans had decreed that whomever wielded the awesome might of Armads would fall and die in battle, something that Hector had called the 'Legacy of Dubans' and even the mighty Lord Hector was no exception. With a shudder, Hector, Lord of Lycia, Ostian General, Father to Lilina and Husband of Florina, perished by Zephiel's hand.


	4. Spiral of Truth

_Forgive me if my updates become less frequent. School and finals and whatnot are coming up. Further, it has been harder to focus on this...I've been drafting a FF12 fic just for fun. _

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><p><strong>Spiral of Truth<strong>

_April 27__th__, 999 A.S._

_Castle Araphen, Lycian League, Elibe_

Although the Western Isles were currently under the rule of Etruria, this was not always so. The land of Durbans had long been a stronghold for pirates, bandits, and outlaws, where the laws of Etruria and Lycia did not extend. Though there were coastal villages along the isles of Caledonia and Fibernia, these people were hardy even by Ilian standards; pirate raids and assaults were often aimed at these coastal hamlets in order to gain a new base. It was not until a mercenary slew the legendary pirate Pwent that the Western Isles experienced a rush of settlers. In a span little under ten years, the population of the isles tripled; most of these settlers were hardy villagers and poor peasants from Lycia, Etruria, and Ilia, seeking to start a new life.

The Western Isles quickly developed into a magnificent trade route, controlling the seas to Ilia and Etruria. The Isles became all seafaring merchants' preferred stops, favoring the unique and abundant materials that were available. The Western Isles had remained largely unsettled even after nine hundred years and as more advanced peoples made their life here, it was discovered that the islands were a literal silver mine. As it was in mainland Elibe, greed managed to claim the hearts of men; bandits and pirates quickly claimed these mines as their own, threatening all of those who dared to come near the silver and copper mines with violence. Although the 'civilized' nations of Elibe wished to claim the mines as their own, they had no legal ramifications to wage such a war against the bandit tribes. However, after the rise of a certain bandit leader, this situation dramatically changed.

Adnon had been the son of a simple Ilian settler who wished to cash in on the booming lumber trade. However, after a pirate raid occurred on the village in which they lived, Adnon fled to the mountains, where he lived for over twenty years. In the course of this time, Adnon assembled a host of men whose brutality and ferociousness were well renowned within the Western Isles. In a stroke of pure audacity, the bandit leader struck out from his mountain stronghold at Djuto and captured the mine of Eburacum, quickly overrunning it with his men. As the mountain scourge overtook the island of Fibernia, those bandit tribes and pirate captains quickly took to his philosophy of strength; swearing loyalty to Adnon, the man was quickly proclaimed as the Mountain King. Viewing this rising threat with increased trepidation, the King of Etruria sprung into action.

Sending the Count of Siene as ambassador to Adnon, the Etrurian government shocked the rest of Elibe by recognizing the Mountain King's domain. This was, of course, an elaborate plot created by the Duke of Phestos for the benefit of Etruria. By recognizing the new 'Mountain Kingdom' as it was called, any military action the Kingdom of Etruria took would be one of war and not of imperialism. This was set up by the Etrurian-sponsored assassination of Count Siene. Claiming that the Mountain King had the man murdered, Etruria declared war upon the Mountain Kingdom.

Although Adnon's men were brutal to the widest imagination of the mind, they were not disciplined in the ways of war. When the Etrurian armies landed on the islands, the bandits fell underfoot to forces led by Great General Douglas and then-Knight General Torthon. However, the forces of the Mountain King made a miraculous turnabout. King Adnon had scoured the depths of Elibe's intellectual institutions until the man happened upon a brilliant strategist and manager. Quickly becoming known as the 'Dread One', Adnon's strategist led what little men the king controlled into battle against General Torthon in what was to be an easy victory for Etruria – however, the final result was much more different.

In a brilliant series of maneuvers, General Torthon's forces were routed and decimated to the man, including the Knight General himself. Rising to meet this new foe, General Douglas forced a confrontation with the Dread One, driving him from the field after a battle that claimed the lives of nearly twice the amount of Etrurians than the islanders. Not possessing the numbers to pursue the Dread One, the Great General retreated to the coastline where he was met by the Dread One's apprentice. The young man offered parlay to the general who agreed emphatically; however, word arose of Adnon's assassination by his own strategist. Utilizing the disappearance of the Dread One and Adnon's death, the Etrurian Army swept through the frail defenses of the Mountain Kingdom, eventually claiming their capital, Djuto which brought an end to the war.

Alongside the human consequences of the war, the Subjugation Wars had a wicked aftermath. As the Kingdom of Etruria seized control of the rich silver and copper mines, they were placed under the control of various barons and counts. Naturally, only a percent of the silver was given to the kingdom; the rest was placed into the personal coffers of these nobles or was used to flood the market. Unlike gold, which was relatively stable due to the lack of deposits, silver and copper fluctuated with the market. As the Subjugation Wars waged on, the prices of silver and copper skyrocketed.

House Cornwell, which had been one of the main bankers of Lycian, specialized in the silver and copper market; loading their banks and coffers with the two metals instead of gold, the fortunes of House Cornwell rose and fell periodically. Compared to Houses Araphen and Laus, which banked Lycia through gold, House Cornwell was the bank of the lower classes. Gold was the preferred currency between rich merchants and nobles while silver and copper was the coin of the lower merchants and farmers. When the Subjugation Wars were waged, the value of silver and copper launched dramatically to where a piece of silver was nearly worth the price of a gold piece. This greatly increased House Cornwell's fortunes to astronomical levels, resulting in the House overspending its budgets.

After the market was flooded with silver and copper by the mine-controlling counts, House Cornwell's assets plummeted. In addition to this, House Cornwell had taken on the debts of many of their investors during the boom period; with the prices of silver and copper halving, these debts became unbearable. In order to save his duchy, Marquis Cornwell enacted the Seventh Article of the Lycian Covenant. The Covenant was developed two centuries after the Lycian League was created after the silver market failed; the Seventh Article stated that once a marquis' debt exceeded half of his assets and income, the marquis is allowed to borrow money from the League to make up for the deficit. House Cornwell enacted this article to save their selves and borrowed vast quantities of gold from Araphen, Laus, and Tuscany to survive the silver depression. Upon receiving this gold, House Cornwell immediately converted the gold into silver and copper, allowing them to regain their economic footing. However, this would later prove to be Cornwell's undoing.

As the Kingdom of Etruria discovered the illegal activities of their counts, King Mordred pulled all Etrurian silver from the market to be slowly put back in over a ten year period. As the price of silver stabilized, the coffers of Cornwell blew to massive proportions. Although the common rate of exchange was five silver pieces per one gold, the inflation had led the exchange between silver and gold to become nearly ten silvers to one gold. When House Cornwell had borrowed the gold, the exchange had been at the inflated rate; with the rates stabilized, House Cornwell suddenly found themselves with double the amount they were supposed to have! Accusing Cornwell of stealing from their assets, Araphen, Laus, and Tuscany framed Marquis Cornwell with embezzlement. An official investigation by Uther of Ostia led to the dissolution of House Cornwell and the death of Marquis Cornwell. It was through this incident, which came to be known as the Tragedy of Cornwell, that Araphen became the greatest economic power in Lycia.

Using their newfound position in Lycia, Araphen concocted an economic policy that increased the state's coffers by great amounts. By using a combination of location, shrewd policies, and the Tragedy of Cornwell, Marquis Roran vaulted Araphen's riches in a short matter of ten years. Even after his death and the ascension of Rheims, Araphen's riches increased. Word of Rheims' treasures travelled far beyond the walls of Araphen and into the ears of human crows such as Narshen.

Owing to his greedy nature, the man had summoned the marquis to the now occupied throne room. After his duel with Hector, Zephiel had departed for Castle Bern; Brunya herself had returned to Sacae to oversee the nomads and to ensure no revolts were staged. Leaving Narshen in charge of the invasion of Lycia, Zephiel had ordered that Orer would oversee the logistics of Narshen's campaign. Given the small time span of a few days, Narshen had a short amount of time to discover where Marquis Rheims had stashed his fabulous treasures.

"Marquis Rheims," Narshen smiled wickedly from the throne, "how nice of you to come."

Although the man was a coward at heart, Rheims of Araphen would not bow meekly to men such as Narshen. Refusing to commit suicide as some of his contemporaries had, Rheims had been chained to his own dungeon. Despite this, the man remained defiant as ever. Looking at the arrogant general, Rheims sneered. "Look at how you, a haughty peasant, sits upon my throne. Be honored that I even spare words for you."

"W-What did you say!" The Dragon General leaned forward, eyes wide. "Listen you damned cretin, you will not bring your wealth to hell gates when my blade enters your neck, correct?" Narshen darkened as Rheims began to chuckle at the wyvern lord. "What the hell is so amusing!"

"You're amusing, peasant!" Rheims shook with laughter as his shackled hands and feet clattered against the marble floor. Standing from where he had been forced to kneel, Rheims rolled his eyes at the general. "Look at you, a low-blooded commoner pissant begging a royal noble such as I for coin!"

"Y-You…!" Turning purple with rage, the man's fist clenched as he glared down at the defeated marquis. Fumbling for his sword, Narshen nearly pulled the magical blade out on Rheims when he stopped suddenly. "Marquis Araphen, if you are not going to cooperate," Narshen grinned wickedly, "then I suppose you have no more use. Slater!" Narshen's lieutenant stepped forward. "Take Marquis Araphen to the rear courtyard with the rest of prisoners."

"Sir?" The grizzled knight stepped forward, eyes questioning.

"Are you deaf, man? I said…_go take Marquis Araphen to the rear courtyard with the rest of the prisoners._" Narshen's eyes widened with fury, causing Slater to silently curse his luck for being assigned under the Dragon General. Narshen's mood swings were infamous in the Bern Army and many in Narshen's division knew better than to wound Narshen's enormous pride and ego. The man considered even a questioning glance to be an affront to his honor; although the man was unable do anything to one of superior rank than himself, woe betide unto those who were of lesser rank.

"Of course sir." Slater saluted sharply and silently prayed that the boot-kissing would assuage the man from violent action. "What shall we do to them?"

Luckily for Slater, the general seemed to be pleased by the armored knight's response. Flippantly fixing his hair, Narshen smirked down at him. "Did you not hear King Zephiel's proclamation? Wait, of course you didn't…you were too busy _cowering in fear of Hector._"

"I apologize for my unacceptable behavior, General. If you would recite His Majesty's issue, I would carry it to the t." In his mind, Slater wished to scream out to the Dragon General of his embarrassment at Hector's hand. However, the former Black Fang member prudently bit back his words.

"By the gods, the things I do for inferior men…I am such a generous gentleman…" Narshen sighed and placed a gloved hand over his face in mock exasperation. "Before his departure for Bern, His Majesty declared that an honorable burial for Marquis Arlon and…Lord Hector." The Dragon General sneered. "His Majesty also declared that all of the Lycian prisoners are to be executed."

Whatever it was that Slater had been expecting this certainly was not it. The man nearly spluttered over this before nodding dumbly. "Yes sir. It shall be done."

Watching as Marquis Araphen was led away, Narshen turned to his lieutenant. "Slater, I must collect supplies and meet with Marquis Erik to regard our plans for…invasion. You are to hold this castle."

Slater resisted the urge to sigh out loud. To a vulture such as Narshen, 'collecting supplies' was synonymous with 'pillaging villages'. "Of course sir."

"Oh, and Slater?" The armored knight looked up. "Even the gods will not be able to save you from my wrath if you lose this castle."

Slater watched with a heavy heart as Narshen walked from the throne room, leaving Slater to stand alone. Apprehensive and slightly depressed about the task he must commit, Slater rubbed his temples before looking out to the Lycian skies. Less than a quarter candlemark later, Narshen and his battalion were soaring through those same Lycian skies, effectively becoming pirates of the air.

* * *

><p><em>Provincial boundary between Kathelet and Araphen,<em>

_Pherae, the second house of the Lycian League and amongst the strongest military force, second to perhaps only Ostia. Famed far and wide and through the ages are the mighty horsemen of Pherae – it has been said that the only individual corps who can equal Pherae's horsemen is the Steel Guard of Ostia and the vaunted wyvern lords of Bern. Long have I dreamed of commanding the Order of the Hawk; to have such a famous and legendary corps at one's disposal is the dream of any strategist. Although some would prefer to claim the ferocity of the wyvern lords, I myself prefer the steadfast courage and stalwartness of Pherae – after fighting alongside four brilliant Order members, and one marquis, I daresay I am slightly biased towards Pherae. In that same sense, I am biased for Ostia as well: luckily for me, I shall have both on my side!_

_With a triple rank phalanx formation called the Tidebreaker, the Ostian knights have served as the ultimate shield and defense in the realm. Many a charge has broken upon the rock that has been the armor knights, blunted against their thick armor and forced back by their sturdy spears. In this day and age, many contemporary strategists consider the Tidebreaker to be relatively obsolete, due to the much more numerous number of serving mages. However, the Order of the Hawk gladly covers their Lycian counterpart well. With their brilliant charges, the heavy cavalry of Pherae can cut down all foes – anything less than a full phalanx of spearman or a battalion of wyvern lords cannot stop the mighty horsemen of Pherae._

_My…just thinking about the pure might at my disposal is making me grin. The Campaign of Fire took months: no allied deaths, the mission accomplished, and only forty three men at my disposal – forty four if one counts the Archsage. If this campaign goes as well as the one twenty years ago, then we shall be home in…three days. Let us pray to Elimine that is the case._

Placing the book inside his satchel, the Famed Genius looked around to his surroundings. After encountering the Pheraen cavalier named Alan, Mark and his escorts had agreed to follow the man to the spot designated for camp. As part of the advance guard, Alan had been entrusted with clearing the road for his liege and pitching camp. When the young lordling had reached their camp the night prior, Mark had opted to desist from troubling the Pheraen heir – Roy had been in conference well into the night, discussing state matters in the privacy of his tent. When Guinevere had finally exited his tent, it had been late into the night, much too late for Mark's liking. When Alan had departed to establish the next forward camp, Mark had slipped away with the red cavalier. Through conversation with the Pheraen vassal, Mark had taken a quick liking to the knight: the man was intelligent, chivalrous, and brave, all qualities Mark admired in a man.

Arriving soon after Alan had pitched camp, Roy had arrived with the rest of the force. With one hundred horsemen and fifty infantry, the Pheraen host was an impressive force to see. Around him, knights diligently performed various duties, never shirking even when their immediate supervisors disappeared. Instead of slouching and lazing when the opportunity presented itself, the Order's finest worked to their fullest. What Mark found most interesting, however, was the pure respect and courtesy that the knights had for the merchants and villagers that milled about their camp. Watching as various numbers of merchants and villagers drifted through the camp to trade with the knights, Mark felt himself shaking his head. _'Only in a Pheraen camp would knights pay and barter for goods instead of taking them outright.'_

Mark nearly found himself walking away from the camp to find solace when a sudden shifting of knights caused him to look upwards. Riding in on a white horse was the heir of Pherae, proud yet humble while leading the retinue of knights and mercenaries behind him. His hair was a blazon red, messy atop his head. Like his father before him, he wore a headband to keep the scarlet locks out of his eyes. Garbed in blue armor and carrying a thin sword at his side, the young man was a near replica of his father. The largest difference, Mark noted, was his eyes; while Eliwood possessed eyes that had experience, Roy's eyes carried an innocence that Mark had long thought gone from Elibe.

Pulling his cloak tighter around him, the strategist pulled his ragged hood over his head. Blending in with the poor villagers and merchants, Mark trudged his way to the Pheraen lordling. By now, various traders and peasants were tugging at the noble, only to be swatted away by the flat edge of Marcus' sword. Mark drifted through the small crowd to yank on Roy's cape; the young lord looked over his shoulder, startled, before giving a kind smile.

"Please suh, might I be givin' ya somethin'?" Mark tried his best to keep in tone yet was finding it increasingly hard not to chuckle.

"Kind man, there are many knights who would trade with you." Unused to such an imposing person, Roy managed a careful smile before attempting to gently yanking his cape out the man's grasp; however, Mark was adamant. Grabbing the cape again, Mark tugged on it once more.

"No, suh, I believin' this be somethin' you wan' ta listen ta."

A steel edge rested on Mark's wrist, causing the tactician to look to his right. "I suggest," Marcus spoke through gritted teeth, "that you release Lord Roy before you _lose _your hand. Now step quickly."

"Ah, my old, dear, gray, wrinkled friend," Mark's eyes twinkled as he removed his hood. "I believe you said those same words twenty years ago. Well, not necessarily those words, but the last three. I think."

"By the gods…" Marcus removed the blade as he stared with incredulity. Standing before him was their illustrious leader of the campaign over twenty years prior. "Mark?"

"Hello, Marcus."

* * *

><p>Although his love for extravagance was well known throughout the Army of Bern, not all of Narshen's pleasures were of large proportions. In fact, one of Narshen's greatest loves was his love of flying. Although he was similar to many other wyvern riders in this regard, Narshen took particular enjoyment in the simple act. The second son of a minor lord, Narshen had trained himself since his youth for the army; due to Elibe's practice of primogeniture, Narshen stood to inherit nothing from his father. Quickly using his position as his father's favorite, Narshen had acquired a quick and mighty wyvern from the Bern stalls; this had engrained his love of flying and it had only grown since then.<p>

As the sole wyvern lord amongst the Dragon Generals, Narshen's Third Legion consisted of many of Bern's wyvern riders. Although General Murdock commanded an impressive cadre of wyverns, led by his skilled lieutenant Gale, it was only expected that a fellow wyvern lord, who understood how they thought and battled, would have the highest command of wyverns amongst the Bern generals.

However, a proven rule of war was that no matter the size of the army, if the general is weak then the army is weak: unfortunately for Bern, this held true even to Narshen. As the vanguard in the Battle of Araphen, Narshen's forces had sustained large losses during the siege; this loss of life had been partly due to their role and partly due to Narshen's incredibly folly during the final attack. Instead of holding back his wyverns to allow the infantry to take the brunt of the Lycian defenders, Narshen had foolishly ordered the all-out-attack upon the battlements. Beaten back with gusto, Narshen's numbers had dipped low.

These losses were a portion of the reason why the man was circumventing the skies of Lycia for plunder. With many of their brothers and friends slain at Lycia, Narshen's men's morale plummeted. In order to keep his soldiers appeased and relatively content, the man needed to line their pockets with gold and silver. Obviously unable to inquiry his king for such things, the only remaining option was to sack the surrounding land.

As he flew over Lycia, Narshen spotted a relatively rundown building on Araphen's outskirts. Eyeing the red roof with appraising eyes, the man turned to his wing-mate, who leaned in the saddle to listen to his general. "You are to take the rest of these men and seek out treasure! I shall take six men with me to search that house!" Nodding his affirmative, the captain flew off to perform his commander's bidding.

Narshen gestured for six men to follow before slowly descending, flying around in a circle as he did so. As he drew closer to the building, he noted that there were children out and about; upon sight of the Bern riders, a priestly looking figure ushering the children into the home. As the wyverns landed in the small clearing in front of the building, Narshen figured he was looking at an orphanage. The monk walked forward, his arms spread outward, a prayer book in his hands. "Peace be with you, my sons."

Narshen hopped off the temporary wyvern he was riding, two swords strapped to his left hip. "Well, hello Father…quite a…" Narshen crinkled his nose at the orphanage, "lovely place you have."

"We do not have the pleasure of excess money, my son." The man bowed, his long blonde hair falling down his side. "Yet we are content and pious, as God wishes."

"Mmm, yes, quite…" Narshen strutted forward, his left hand resting on the pommel of the two swords. Sneering at the monk, who looked calmly on, he gestured for two of the knights behind him. "Search the orphanage for any valuables."

"Of course, sir." The knights moved to do their general's bidding as Lucius stepped forward, a frown on his face.

"Please, sir knight, we have no valuables. As you can clearly see, we are a run-down orphanage – we have nothing to spare."

Narshen walked to and fro, an arrogant smile plastered on his face. "Is that so? Well, I suppose you shall be singing a different tune once we hack off an arm."

"General Narshen," one of the knights called out from behind him, "look at this lil' one!" Walking forward from the forest that surrounded the orphanage, the wyvern rider held a young girl in his arms. The child, who could not have been older than eight, struggled against the man, crying out in pain as he squeezed her arm. "I know you…appreciate those who are older, yet I suppose someone such as her could settle?"

Inwardly, Narshen felt disgusted at the man. Although the Dragon General had few in the way of morals, he had always felt the need to secure the safety of children – as long as it benefitted him, of course. In this situation, though, a little persuasion could go a long way. "Oh, she'll be fine Henry. It'll be a shame to hear her cry when I rip her li-"

"Put her down." Narshen spun to find Lucius staring at him with eyes of fire.

"Hm?"

Lucius' hands tightened on the prayer book, voice dipping low. "You shall not harm one of my flock, sinner. I shall repeat myself once. Release her or suffer the wrath of God."

His voice brooked no dispute and Narshen sincerely wondered what the monk would do to prevent them from running the holy man through with their swords. The rapid change in the monk's demeanor unnerved the general; a few short moments ago, he had been gentle and soft-spoken, seemingly harmless. As soon as they moved upon one of his charges, his eyes had burned with holy wrath and an aura of power radiated from him.

"Oh?" The wyvern rider leaned forward, his hand moving down the girl's body. "And what would you do if I did thi-"

The knight never finished the sentence. Like the hammer of God, a large burst of light fell from the sky, striking the man dead. His skin smelt of burning flesh as the man fell to the ground, smoking from the magical blast. Incredibly, despite being so close to the now-deceased knight, the orphan had not been harmed by the blast.

"It has been nearly twenty years since I dealt judgment to those who would defile God!" Lucius turned on Narshen, who looked on with completely bewilderment. "As per Elimine's teachings, I shall offer peace – leave now or suffer the wrath of the Lord."

Growling under his breath, Narshen silently swore. The might of the monk intimidated him: he had never seen such magical prowess in the holy magics. Despite this, he needed to maintain face – if he fled now, his men's already low morale would plummet and his own prestige would suffer greatly. "The man who slays the monk gets Henry's share of the plunder!"

Springing into action, the men of Bern were as one, spears jutting outwards and charged at the man. As Narshen stood back, he noticed a flash of green hair in one of the battered windows. _'A shame they shall have to see this simple monk be skewered.'_

However, Lucius the Light was no simple monk. A chosen companion on the Campaign of Fire, Lucius had struck down more men than the five charging knights had killed combined. Muttering a short incantation under his breath, Lucius raised his hands before another divine bolt shot down from the heavens. The beam struck down a Bern knight, condemning him to death on the spot; seeing their companion fall, the knights let out a yell before yet another blast of holy magic purged their souls from their body.

Unfortunately for Lucius, the knights were far too close. After striking down the second knight, the monk felt a distinctive pain in his torso. Not even sparing a glance at the lance that protruded from his stomach, Lucius' hands reached forward until they were locked onto the man's wrists. Summoning the last of his fading strength, Lucius fried the man with a final blast of white magic; looking at the smoking corpse with a fading smile, Lucius felt his head dip, awaiting the sword blow to come.

The sword never came.

Although Narshen had every intention of slaying the monk, a hatchet changed his mind. Spotting the projectile out of the corner of his eye, Narshen dropped to the ground as the axe passed overhead harmlessly. Staring at the man near the forest edge, Narshen sneered. At the swordsman's feet was a small pile of logs, likely dropped from when the man had returned from chopping wood.

"So," Narshen grimaced as he stood, hand flying to his hip, "you wish to try me? Foolish man." The sound of scraping metal was heard as Narshen pulled a simple steel sword from his side, leveling it at the swordsman.

If Narshen had believed it was going to be an easy fight, he was sorely mistaken. The red haired warrior darted forward, heavy blade cutting across the arm of one of Narshen's guards. A quick flash of blue was all Narshen saw of the man's sword work before a decapitated head rolled across the ground. Darting towards the remaining rider, the mercenary's blade met the knight's lance with a loud crash. Darting forward, Narshen swept at the man while the mercenary was locked with the knight.

The sword bit lunged for the man as he disengaged too slowly from the stalemate, leaving his ribs vulnerable. Narshen's blade flickered to the right before cutting sharply downwards, gashing across the man's left side. Bulling through the cut, the mercenary's blade cut downwards towards Narshen, who barely managed to deflect the hit. Although the two blades bounced off one another, Narshen's suffered a very noticeable chip in its fine edge. Deeming the blade useless, Narshen tossed it aside before pulling out the other sword in his arsenal. A dull brown in color, magical runes imbued with dark magic flowed down the flat side of the sword. Granted to him by Prime Minister Orer upon his generalship, Narshen prized the blade.

Stepping aside as his comrade fell to the earth, both of his arms missing, Narshen slashed downwards. Blade met sword with a clang before the two separated. Although Narshen was a man of pride and greed, he did not accompany his position solely for his charm; the Dragon General was an accomplished swordsman, able to duel blades with the best of knights. As Narshen twisted and turned, he made this readily obvious. Although the red haired swordsman had cut down the Bern riders with relative ease, Narshen proved to be a much more impressive opponent. Nonetheless, Raven had served in the Campaign of Fire and had been one of its more valuable members; relying on skills and instincts that had been cultivated on the field of battle over twenty years prior, the man gave as good as he got – which almost overwhelmed the young Dragon General.

As Narshen's runesword clashed against Raven's Regal Blade, the wyvern lord noticed that his sword was slowly beginning to crack and weaken. Although the magical blade was an impressive piece, it paled in comparison to the mighty Regal Blade. Forged centuries ago with metals that were no longer known to man, the Regal Blade was inferior only to the Divine Weapons; naturally, it was only a matter of time before Narshen's sword shattered against the blue sword's might.

Realizing this, Narshen attempted to snake his way out of the blade's path. Although the wyvern lord was able to maneuver his way around Raven's attacks, he couldn't do this forever: fortunately, he didn't have to. Although devoid of their riders, the wyverns of Bern had undergone training just as the knights had; with a vicious screech, one of the serpentine beasts had clasped Raven's leg in its vice-like jaws. Although the wyvern's head had been removed shortly thereafter, the damage had been done; his leg torn asunder by wyvern fangs, Raven hobbled backwards, unable to go on the offense.

Though the mercenary was not able to make concise movements – which limited his offense considerably – he was still able to parry away Narshen's blows, much to the general's annoyance. After deflecting Narshen's sword far to the side, Raven stepped forward to end the duel before stopping abruptly; he was unable to move his left side, feeling paralyzed from the neck down. Watching futilely as Narshen recovered, Raven's eyes closed before the magical sword entered into his chest. Falling backwards awkwardly, Raven reached out with his right hand towards his now-dead friend before giving up the ghost.

Reaching low, Narshen seized the blue blade from Raven's left hand and slid it into his sheath. Not sparing a look behind him, Narshen left his cracked runesword behind before speeding off to the west. Later, when a young green haired mage and a sandy haired thief would go to bury the body of their father and his companion, they would look at the steel sword Narshen had carried. Along the chip in the edge was a slight green color, glistening brightly in the afternoon sun.

Narshen always coated his weapons with poison.

* * *

><p>Nestled between the Laus Mountains and the Tuscanan Plains, Caelin stood in the heartland of Lycia. Positioned in at a pivotal crossroads in Lycia, Caelin benefited from the merchants that travelled through the region. Lumber, in particular, was a popular product in the lands of Caelin; within the Laus Mountains grew a particular kind of oak tree grew with success. Valued for its durable yet flexible wood, these trees were valued by the various armies across Elibe – as one of the duchies closest to the Laus Mountains, Caelin benefitted greatly from this trade. Using the lumber as bargaining tools, Caelin merchants and the duchy itself traded this wood for products that could not be found within Caelin lands – namely iron and tin.<p>

As with all lucrative trades, this lumber market attracted those who had less than honorable intentions. The Laus Mountains served as a festering ground of bandits and outlaws who wished to profit from the trade. These villainous men preyed upon the few paths through and near the mountains, often to much success; the forces of Laus, though maintaining peace, often bribed these bandits to seize the lumber goods to force them away from Caelin merchants and give them to their counterparts in Laus. In accordance with this, Caelin's knights gave venom to the men in Laus for these deeds. Although it was often impossible to trace the bandits to Marquis Erik and Laus, it had happened more than once before; coupled with the bitter memory of the Laus invasion twenty years prior, this made Caelin and Laus bitter enemies.

As the Steward of Caelin, Sir Kent held no love for Laus. Forced from his castle alongside the Lady Lyndis, the Crimson Shield spared no opportunity to weaken Laus. Although technically under the jurisdiction of Ostia, Kent held a seat at the annual Lycian Conference but he was not allowed to sit on the monthly gatherings which was reserved only for the marquises or their representatives. Of the seventeen conferences that he attended, Kent had taken the side of Ostia and Pherae for seventeen of them – likewise, he had opposed Erik for the same number. Kent's dislike of Erik was well founded and understood by many; although the Marquis of Laus was respected for his shrewdness and administration abilities, not many were struck by his personality. As if to strengthen the reasons behind his dislike, the Marquis of Laus had moved to dismiss Caelin and to divide its lands amongst Santaruz, Kathelet, and Laus – a movement that was promptly squashed.

It was for this reason that Kent stared out to the east with narrowed eyes. Clutching an oak cane in his right hand, the former Knight Commander of Caelin was incapable of fighting on the field again – yet, this only served to strengthen his resolve. Appointing his lifelong companion Sain as Knight Commander, Kent had sent a great number of Caelin's forces to Araphen to assist Lord Hector. This mass depletion of knights caused a problem on the home front: if bandits were to suddenly attack in great numbers, the knights of Caelin would be hard pressed to defend the castle.

"Ah, Kent," a gentle voice behind him sounded, "I was looking for you."

Although lacking in pure numbers, Caelin had warriors from the Campaign of Fire to defend them. Although the Crimson Shield was incapable of battle, his wife was not lacking in skill; as a valiant and graceful Pegasus knight, Fiora had led Caelin's forces time and again in Kent and Sain's absence.

Steward Kent turned on his heel before wincing in pain as his back twisted awkwardly. "Fiora, what is it?"

Kent's wife of eighteen years sidled up to her husband, grabbing his free arm. Resting her head against his shoulder, she sighed. "I was just…thinking about Thomas."

Kent nodded in understanding. Although he loved his son dearly, he knew that Fiora was especially close with Thomas. Despite the fact that Kent had ordered Thomas to the field, he felt a pang of guilt in his heart every time he saw Fiora. A constant fear and worry was present in her eyes, causing Kent to regret sending Thomas to Araphen. "I…thought about him earlier."

"Do you think we did the right thing?" Fiora shuffled her feet against the stone battlement, her soles flowing easily over the smooth stones. "I mean, I'd trust no one but Sain to lead him and Edward is never more than a stone's throw away, but…"

"No, I know what you're saying." Kent tapped his cane against the ground, something he did when he was thinking. "But like you said, I wouldn't have sent him if I didn't believe he was capable of handling it; further, Sain thinks of Thomas like a son…he wouldn't let something happen to him if he could help it."

Fiora shook her teal hair out of her face. Despite being twenty years older, age seemed to barely affect the Pegasus knight. Despite a few creases near her eyes and her hair turning slightly lighter, Dame Fiora looked mostly unchanged. "Sorry, I'm just feeling sorry for myself today. Today was Florina's birthday…"

Kent didn't say a word as he clasped his wife's hand in his. Although the youngest sister had passed away nearly twelve years ago, Fiora never ceased to think about her. Although Kent was never one to reveal his emotions, he was heartless; as far back as he could remember, Kent had only cried three times in his life: the birth of his son, the death of Lady Lyndis, and the death of Lady Florina. He nearly spoke when a recently knighted soldier ran up to him.

"Steward Kent, Lady Fiora!" The young man saluted sharply as Kent nodded dismissively; behind him, Fiora masked her face into that of apathy, eyes not revealing her inner turmoil. "There's a lone knight marching up the hill towards the castle! We've asked to identify himself yet he was unresponsive!"

"Hm. Fetch me my horse…I shall meet with him." The Steward of Caelin squeezed Fiora's hand before limping towards the stairs, where he waited until his horse was drawn.

Leading the horse down the small slope from the castle, Kent shielded his eyes against the afternoon sun. Leading the knight from before, Kent resisted the urge to sigh. He often had met travelers and free knights on this very slope, well within range of the Caelin archers. Unlike this time, however, he did not have Thomas at his back – this little thought caused him to miss his son greatly. However, Kent did not have time to worry and miss his son – the knight from before was nearly upon them, a large lance in his hand.

"Well met, sir knight!" Kent raised a hand in greeting as the horses stopped. "May I inquire your business around these parts?"

"You wound me!" The knight's voice boomed even from within the silver helm as Kent's eyes widened. The voice sounded so _familiar. _"I would have thought I would receive a better greeting than this – yet I've never been a man of grandeur!"

"May I ask your name, sir knight?"

The knight removed his helm as Kent stared on in shock. "You forget me so quickly? I'm hurt Kent! Or, should I call you Steward Kent?"

"L-Lord Wallace!" Kent allowed a smile to appear on his face as the former Knight Commander grinned widely. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd return back to Caelin; I heard about Lord Hector's call to arms. Knowing you, you'd send every arm available…I figured this old bulldog could lend you a hand."

"O-Of course! We'd be honored to fight alongside you!" Kent held a hand as Wallace grasped it. "Well met, General."

"The pleasure is all mine Kent."

As Kent led the grizzled veteran back to the castle, he couldn't help but be dumbfounded by Wallace's sudden appearance. Although he had long looked up to the Caelin knight, he had lost touch with the man over time. Despite the general's constant denial of dying on a bed, Kent had believe that would eventually be Wallace's fate. At any rate, the mighty armor knight would not be bested on the field of battle!

"So, Kent," Wallace turned to the still-mounted steward, "have you heard from Lady Lyndis?"

"Ah…Lord Wallace, Lady Lyndis died…a few years ago. She succumbed to illness." Kent watched as Wallace's expression changed from one of shock to sadness. Although many had been close to the noblewoman during the Campaign of Fire, none valued Lyndis more than the knights of Caelin.

"Did you get to say your farewells to milady?"

"Unfortunately, no. Sain managed to hold vigil over her, however."

Wallace nodded slowly before smiling, attempting to break the mood. "Sain eh? I've not seen that rascal for nineteen years or so!"

Kent blinked at this. "Nineteen years? He was married nineteen years ago."

"Aye." Wallace slapped Kent on the shoulder when the younger man dismounted. "The lass he married was from the village I found myself in. Gentle thing, she was. I was the sole witness, won't you know?"

"I…believe I know why." Kent shook his head as he recalled his best friend's tales of his marriage. After electing to venture across Elibe as a free knight, the Green Lance had fallen in love with a villager from Ilia. Instantly smitten with her, Sain had accidentally impregnated Elice – they married shortly after.

"What about you? If I remember what Sain had told me, you married the eldest sister…Fiora, right?"

"That's correct." Kent led Wallace to the throne room, where the throne lay bare and empty. It had not seated a soul since the death of Marquis Caelin twenty years prior. "We have a son as well."

"Do you? I'd love to meet him one day." Wallace followed Kent into one of the rooms off to the side of the throne room. A large table rested in the middle of the room, undisturbed since the departure of the Caelin knights two weeks ago. "This room brings back memories."

"Aye…" Kent and Wallace sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, each relishing the memory of their Lady Lyndis. She would gather her most trusted companions in this room to simply speak and inquire about their lives – even Wallace had enjoyed such gatherings. "Lord Wallace, what brought you back here? Surely, and I mean no offense by this, the trek all the way from Ilia must have been…harsh for someone at your age."

"No offense taken Kent. I know I'm not as young as I used to be." Wallace allowed himself to grin widely before the bald general rapped the table with his hands. "I'm back because I was going to serve alongside Lord Hector at Araphen."

"Oh?" Kent frowned. "Why aren't you there now then?"

"Because, Kent," the grin disappeared, "Araphen has fallen."

* * *

><p>Scores of miles away, on the outskirts of Araphen's territory, a war council was being held. After an out-rider had informed the Pheraen army of Araphen's fall to Bern, strategies were being made to seize back the castle. Settled within a large pavilion in the middle of camp, the heir of Pherae and his squad captains were gathered around a square table, with Roy at the head.<p>

"Master Roy," Marcus spoke from the side, "perhaps we can circumvent the castle walls to attack the castle in all directions?"

"Impossible, Sir Marcus." Dieck shook his head from where he sat, arms crossed. Although not a knight nor of peerage, the man had been asked to join council due to his experience on the field of battle. "Our forces are far too few to lay siege to the castle from more than one side."

"We cannot simply charge straight ahead, however." As leader of the vanguard and wing respectively, Alan and Lance were two of Roy's squad commanders. Although young in age, the two were battle tried and tested warriors whom even veteran knights acknowledged. "Our casualties would be enormous."

"We have not the capabilities to hold a siege. Our supplies, though plentiful for the march, are too little to lay siege."

Roy contemplated Merlinus' words for a moment before nodding slowly. Although the young man typically deferred to his retainers' plans for battle, it was he who ultimately had the final say in their battle plans. Although the boy was bright, his reluctance for death led to strategies being crucially created and implemented. "You're right. If we are to take the castle, then it shall be quick. How will we force our way through the gates though? Surely, the enemy outnumbers us."

"Sorry to say, Master Roy," the men in the room looked up as Mark walked in, "but that is not true."

"Oh?" Watching as Mark dumped three books and four different maps on the table, Roy gave a questioning look. "Why do you believe this is?"

"The Bern standard flying over Araphen belongs to Dragon General Narshen. As I spoke with the scout we sent, he said that the villagers around Araphen claimed that a corps of wyverns and infantry left many candlemarks ago." Mark shuffled through one of the beaten books before resuming his talk; Roy noted that the man hardly looked up while he spoke, preferring to keep his eyes focused on the side task he was working on. "This information, combined with what I know of Narshen, leads me to believe that he is overconfident in his force. He likely left behind a token force to defend Araphen."

"Ah, so we can take them even with our numbers?"

"Precisely, Marcus." Mark swore softly before picking up another book, leafing through it while moving the other off to the side. "Further, as if to improve our situation, two large holes have been spotted in the castle's walls. The gatehouse is completely collapsed. Our cavalry should have no problem charging these breaches."

"Yes, this does make our task easier…" Roy still frowned, however, causing Mark to look up in annoyance. "We would still maintain losses if we charged though…Er," he noticed Mark's annoyed glare for the first time, "is there something on my face?"

"Pardon my frankness, but I believe there's something on your brain." Mark grumbled before folding a page in the book; setting it off to the side, Mark opened two of the maps before spreading the third across the table, ignoring the insulted looks of Lance and Alan. "You're nativity is, pardon me, appalling Master Roy. Losses must be expected and accepted in war."

Roy found himself silent, though not by being startled. Gesturing for Alan and Lance to settle down, the teen noted that Marcus and Merlinus did not rise to Mark's insult. Knowing the Mark spoke only the truth, Roy nodded. "Yes, I know, Mark. However, if I can lessen our losses while still carrying the day…"

"That is the fine line a general must walk. Regardless," Mark pointed to a spot on the map, "I have a trump card."

"Please, illustrate for us what your 'trump card' is."

Nodding at Roy, Mark allowed himself a slight smile. "Years ago, when I fought in Araphen, I was chanced at the opportunity to witness something that is…most secretive…"

* * *

><p>Slater looked out sadly over the assembled Lycian prisoners. Instead of plodding in a mass heap of flesh and cloth, the remaining commanders had ordered the Lycian soldiers to line up rank and file. With the remaining marquises at the forefront, the organized lines moved from marquis to private. Slater noticed that the Lycians did not separate themselves based upon duchy; instead, they were one force, standing side by side. <em>'They face death yet they stare at us with eyes that could force a man into submission…by the gods, what am I going to do? Elimine shall forsake me to hell for such an act."<em>

Slater sighed as he looked out over the fifty soldiers he commanded. Such a force was incapable of hardly anything. Slater had learned early on in the day that guarding Castle Araphen against attack would be no easy task. If a determined enemy attacked the castle, they would need nothing short of a miracle to hold it. Although the militias or the remaining armies of Lycia had not been seen around them, bandits were a viable threat. In times of war, bandits and vagabonds attacked weakened castles in order to gain strongholds over trade routes. Positioned on a vital trade route between Lycia, Sacae, and Bern, any bandit who controlled Araphen would be a scourge to all merchants and travelers the world over.

As if to compound Slater's worries, the battered walls around Araphen were near indefensible. With large holes in the stone fortification, Slater and his men would be hard pressed to defend Araphen against attack. Although the appearance of the dragons had been the catalyst for Bern's victory, it may have been the main reason they would _lose_ the castle. Although Slater had attempted to build a wooden blockade to seal the gaps, it was a mere patch to a large problem.

"Sir Slater," a guard beside him whispered in his ear, "the Lycians are assembled."

"I can see this." Slater growled before fishing a writ from his armor. "Read this loud and clear to them."

"I-I can't sir…I can't read."

Although the man's illiteracy annoyed Slater, he did not let it show – it was not the soldier's fault. As advanced as Elibe was, much of the population was illiterate. While nobles, scholars, priests, and knights were all taught literacy as part of their studies, many of the villagers and farmers were unable to read or write. Although schools were offered until the age of twelve, many farmers preferred to keep their children at home to assist with the crops.

"Of course not. That is fine." Withdrawing his arm, Slater opted to avoid the hassle and just read it himself. There was a good chance that the other man beside him was illiterate as well and Slater honestly just wished for this horrific deed to be over. "As per His Majesty, King Zephiel of Bern, Conqueror of Ilia and Sacae, and Lord of Castle Araphen, all instigators of rebellion shall be executed. For challenging His Majesty's right to dominion over Lycia, the remnants of the Lycian army shall be executed by beheading. For instigating resistance to His Majesty's right of the land, the Marquises of Lycian shall be executed by beheading."

"W-What!" Emerus of Kathelet attempted to stand before a soldier forced him back down to his knees. "K-King Zephiel p-promised me c-control of Lycia! T-T-There must be some mistake!"

"His Majesty changed his mind." Slater dismissively gestured the executioner forward. "A knight values honor and loyalty above all else, Marquis. Perhaps you should remember that His Majesty is a knight as well as a king."

"P-P-Please!" Emerus threw himself to Slater's feet, much to the disgust of the Lycian soldiers. Even Marquises Rheims and Memnon looked down at the Marquis of Kathelet. "I have m-money! I c-can make all of you very r-rich!"

Slater regarded the man with a scornful eye. "His Majesty of Bern has sentenced you to death. You have been judged and condemned. If there any last requests…I shall hear them." A captain bearing the colors of Kathelet stood, looking over as his lord nearly crawled towards Slater. Hope filled Emerus' eyes as he looked at his captain, who moved to voice his request. Slater held a hand in the air to cut the man off preemptively. "I can grant your request so long as you do not ask for the life over your marquis."

The captain spat at Emerus. "I would spare a mercenary's life over his. A mercenary at least has _some _honor."

Slater allowed himself to thinly smile as Emerus' eyes widened in horror. "State your request, Lycian knight."

"On your honor as a knight," a few Lycians behind the captain nodded, "please grant Lord Hector a proper resting place as a giant amongst men. He should not lie underneath the paltry grave we provided. Please, knight, swear that you shall build him a tomb with the proper trappings as a leader among men."

Slater paused for a moment, taken aback at the request. Looking out of the corner of his eyes at the simple cross covered by rubble from the wall, Slater nodded slowly. "It shall be done on my honor as a knight. Are there any other requests?"

"No sir."

Moved by the Lycians' loyalty to the fallen Ostian general, Slater nodded. "Go in peace." The captain bowed his head before falling back into the ranks. He did not look at his lord even once as the man crawled before Slater. The armored knight nearly barked out a laugh when Emerus moved to speak once more – he already knew the fallen noble would attempt to bribe him with gold and women. "Silence, marquis. Look about you…if you had been half the man Lord Hector was, some of those men would have begged for your life. However, not even a single man wishes your freedom – you have doomed yourself, marquis and now you must lie in your bed."

Emerus sobbed piteously as the guards jerked him to his feet. Joining Rheims and Memnon at the front beside Slater, one executioner stood with a fearsome axe. Although the Lycians had not looked kindly on those who tried to stop Hector, they held their most unkind looks for the Marquis of Kathelet. It was not unknown that Emerus had been the one to open the rear gate to Zephiel and, thus, many Lycians considered the man to be the reason the castle fell.

Memnon looked over Emerus with disgust. "How pathetic. Look how you quiver before death! Although I did not agree with Lord Hector, I shall not meet my end any less honorably!" Memnon turned to the executioner, who stood beside Emerus. "Executioner, let my head be the first to fall! Let it be known that Memnon of Worde shall not second any man in bravery!"

Emerus paled as Memnon's head rolled across the scaffolding. The man quaked with fear as the executioner walked towards Marquis Araphen. Rheims looked upon the armored man with disdainful eyes before offering his neck towards him. "Hack away peasant! I am a noble of Lycia, the Marquis of Araphen! I shall not bend my knee and cower before haughty low-bloods such as you!"

If it were possible, Emerus paled further. The heads of Marquises Rheims and Memnon had been separated cleanly from their bodies. Though messy due to the blood, the execution had been clean and did not mutilate the body. The same could not be said of Marquis Emerus. Quaking and shaking so great from fright, the executioner was unable to get a clean cut. The first blow had cleaved through his right shoulder, causing the man to yell out in pain; the second fared no better, with the axe nicking the man's neck deep enough for blood to flow. Still very much alive, Emerus moved to ask for mercy before the executioner finally found his mark, much to the relief of the soldiers – Bern and Lycian alike.

"Those two died without fear." Slater gestured to Rheims and Memnon, whose heads were being gathered. "Grant their bodies to their families for a proper burial. _He_," a nod to Emerus' corpse, "shall be buried without trappings in an unmarked grave as befits a traitor to his country."

As two soldiers carried the lifeless bodies of Rheims and Memnon away, Slater glanced out on the faces of his captives. The Lycian soldiers watched as Emerus' corpse was dragged unceremoniously to the side, where a large hole was being dug. Grim satisfaction was apparent on their faces and Slater understood the sentiment; although Rheims and Memnon, though unimpressive in life, did not stoop to the level that Emerus had. The Marquis of Kathelet had sold out the entire Lycian garrison in order to spare his own life – in the eyes of a knight, this was unforgiveable.

"Sir Slater," a purple armored spearman ran forward, "we have a problem!"

'_Why don't you just announce it for the captives to hear… ?' _Slater sneered at the man, who jogged up to the lieutenant. Despite his annoyance, Slater calmly turned to the footman. "What is it?"

"An army is marching on the castle! Their standard is of a hawk!"

Slater's eyes widened at this. Staring quickly at the Lycian prisoners, he noticed that the soldiers whispered excitedly amongst themselves. All in attendance knew of the legendary hawk standard, Slater included. Turning to the soldier, Slater slapped him across the cheek. "Silence, man! Your dumbfounding yelling may incite revolt! Now…assemble the men to the defense."

"Sir Slater!" An unarmed man ran from the hall that led to the throne room, sweat beading on his exposed forehead. "A problem!"

Slater nearly throttled the man then and there. Biting down his irritation, Slater managed to grit out his reply. "What?"

"A knight in the throne room! He appeared out of nowhere!"

Slater swore under his breath. Since the storming of Araphen, the throne room had acted a temporary headquarters and small armory – if a Lycian knight was there, he was likely attempting to rearm the prisoners. Tell Sergeant Kilnt to lead the men in formation. I shall be with you shortly."

Instructing five men to hold the prisoners at sword-point, Slater marched off to the throne room to fetch his lance. As he passed through one of the openings, he cursed. Off in the distance, beyond the range of a bowman, a dust cloud moved at a furious pace. Although he needed to squint, the hawk standard of Pherae was discernable on the blue and white background. As the Pheraen force drew closer, Slater felt doom grasp his heart; although the number of soldiers was unknown, Slater knew that the Pheraen force would have brought forty heavy horsemen _minimum. _The only infantry that could stand toe-to-toe with the Order of the Hawk were the armor knights of Ostia – Slater knew that his force would be decimated.

Speeding towards the throne room, Slater walked into the grand room. Locked viciously in battle with a knight was two of Slater's own. Although outnumbering the man, they seem to be faring for the worst of it; the knight spun and thrust, his spear a whirl of color. Darting to seize his javelin, Slater watched with dread as the two Bern men were cut down. The unknown knight turned towards Slater, his jagged lance coated in fresh blood.

"Who are you? Bern or Lycian?" Slater removed his helm so his words could be heard – the young knight wore no protective headgear, his brown hair visible. Raising his javelin towards the Lycian knight, Slater stepped forward. "Wait…you need not answer. I can see the crest of Caelin on your breast."

"If you're here to stop me, don't expect to leave here alive." The knight spun the lance in his right hand before pointing it towards Slater. "Sorry to keep you…you're up next."

* * *

><p><em>Initially, I intended on doing the entire battle in one chapter. However, as I wrote, I just wanted to be done with this chapter. I absolutely detest this chapter with a passion, yet no matter how many times I rewrote certain scenes (some up to seven times), it just did not turn out right. Well, anyways, read and review.<em>


	5. Knives and Shadows

**Knives and Shadows **

_April 27__th__, 999 A.S._

_Castle Araphen, Lycian League, Elibe_

"Give it up!"

Lance met lance with a resounding knock of wood. The two poled weapons were locked at their middle, struggling to overcome the other. Slater clenched his teeth as he attempted to force the Lycian knight backwards but was met with staunch resistance. Although the Bern lieutenant had witnessed the young knight cutting down two of Bern's standard, he hadn't expected the man to be _this _good. Meeting Slater thrust for thrust, the Lycian knight had not inflicted a mortal wound – there were numerous cuts that testified to near hits, however.

Kicking out with a heavy boot, the young man was forced back with a grunt; flipping the lance over his shoulder, the Lycian stepped back, a predatory grin on his face. Breathing heavily, Slater slammed the end of his lance against the marble floors. "You're impressive…and honorable. I dropped my lance yet you let me reclaim it…"

"There's no honor in killing a defenseless man." The brown haired man rested his lance against his shoulder seemingly relaxed; however, to an experienced warrior like Slater, one could notice the slightly bent knees and separated feet, preparing themselves to move.

"Honor is something rare in this world. It hasn't existed in twenty years."

Indeed, it hadn't. As part of the old stock of warriors in Elibe, Slater still emphasized honor and chivalry. These ideals were founded by the Black Fang over twenty years ago; Slater had fought for the Fang during the glory days under Brendan Reed when it had not come under the influence of Nergal. Leaving the Fang after the death of Lloyd and Linus Reed, Slater had remained on the run until entering the Bern military to instill those beliefs into the force: as with all good intentions, however, this was quickly defeated. Bending himself to the will of the Bern Army, Slater had created a new future for himself, rising through the ranks to become Narshen's lieutenant.

"As a service to the dying age of chivalry, I shall pay my respects to you." The knight took his lance and raised it awkwardly to his temple in one of the salutes of old. "As befits a knight, I shall give my name. I am Edward of Caelin."

"Slater of Bern." Slater returned the gestured before leveling his steel lance at the knight – partway through the battle his javelin had started to crack, much to Slater's dismay. When the Caelin knight had forced the lance from his hands, he had grabbed one of his companions' steel lances in replacement. "Let us fight like men of honor and chivalry."

Edward simply nodded before darting forward, killer lance crossing from the side. Meeting the horizontal blow with his own lance, Slater stabbed forward as Edward spun around the blow. Using the momentum of his spin, the Lycian struck out with the butt of his spear, striking Slater in his left pauldron; the Bern knight stumbled slightly before stabbing across his chest. All he claimed, however, was air as Edward squirmed away from the blow; the killer lance batted the steel lance down before it slashed across towards Slater's throat, metal ringing in the air.

As soon as Slater stepped back from the strike, he knew he was stuck. As soon as the Bern knight retreated from the lance, the Lycian reversed his blow to the right and angled it downwards. The jagged point tore through the brown leather of Slater's boots, nearly causing the man to scream; the blunted end that struck the left side of his jaw, however, drowned any attempts at speaking. Stumbling backwards, Slater felt a piercing pain in his underarm. Looking to his left arm, the wicked lance removed itself from his arm, coating Slater's shirt in fresh blood.

"Surrender! I do not wish to mindlessly kill today!"

Slater shook his head before spitting out a tooth, blood following it. Rubbing his jaw gingerly, Slater grit his teeth. "Generous of you but the only honorable method is death!"

Slater swung his spear in a wide arc, bringing it crashing from the side. Twisting his shoulders so that the blow hit off his shoulder, Edward grimaced as the lance cracked the armor on his left shoulder. Spinning wildly on his heel, Edward instinctively moved away from Slater to balance himself. Slater moved with the Lycian, lance swinging once more. Edward ducked under the blow before slamming the end of his spear into Slater's chin. The Bern knight's head shot back as the lance moved away – it only took a fraction of a second for Slater to know that he was dead.

The killer lance spun once in the air before it stabbed downwards, clasped backwards in Edward's hands. The point stuck in Slater's throat before blood bubbled out of the wound, mixing with the blood that was beginning to emerge from Slater's mouth. A noisy squelch was heard as Edward removed his lance from Slater's neck, watching as the Bern knight fell to his knees as his strength faded. Edward turned in respect as Slater tried to speak before making Elimine's cross over his chest, light dying from his eyes. A clattering of metal followed as Slater fell to the ground, blood pooling around his now-prone form.

"Impressive." Edward turned around wearily as Eris walked towards him. Behind her, four of the remaining Lycian knights were emerging from the tunnel – neither Sain nor Paris was among them. "Fall back to the tunnel…we can cover this."

"No…no, I'm fine." Edward shook his head as he deeply inhaled. Exhausted by the lack of sleep, no food in his belly, and an impressive opponent, the son of Sain was nearly dead on his feet. Like all noble knights, however, Edward would never admit his weakness. "I'll just uh…I just need a few moments of rest."

Eris rested her hand on Edward's forearm as the remaining knights took up arms by the entrance to the room. Smiling softly at him, she ran her fingers up and down the clothed skin. "You look like hell."

"I'm like your come-on. Makes me feel loved." Edward slumped against his lance and Eris, struggling to keep himself standing. Although he was wide-awake within the tunnel, he had done nothing more than sit against the wall. The fight with Slater, however, had drained the knight of what little he had in reserve. "Why the hell did my father think of such an absurd plan…"

"It's not absurd. A little farfetched, but…"

"Bah." Edward waved a hand. "All we need to do is make sure we ambush any that come this way while staying silent, right? Easy enough."

Eris nodded before unsheathing her steel sword, making sure the motion was performed quietly. Whispering into Edward's ear, she allowed a soft smile to show. "A shame that your mouth runs all the time…we'll get caught."

"I resent that."

* * *

><p>Cecilia leaned forward on her desk, slender hands running through her dark hair. Her temples throbbed, her eyes hurt, and she really could use a nice shoulder rub. All she really wanted was to soak in the baths at her home and forget that she was even a general!<p>

In truth, despite all the factors weighing down on her, Cecilia was more than content to have the pressure weigh in on her if it meant she was to take a leading role in the preparations against Bern. Although the courts were sluggish in preparing for the seemingly imminent war with Zephiel, the Three Generals were actively moving as quickly as they possibly could. Though not near the point of conscription, increasing taxes and increased pressure to volunteer was being put on the Etrurian population. Opting that a strong defense may be the only way to win a two or possibly three front war, the generals were constructing a wide network of fortifications along the Etrurian border, particularly along mountainous paths. By forcing the Bern forces into a chokepoint, the Etrurian military hoped to downplay Bern's superior numbers.

'_Despite that though, Bern still holds all the cards. While Douglas, Percival, and I are all outstanding commanders in our own right, I do not believe we will be able to truly match the Dragon Generals.' _

In truth, Cecilia was correct. Although the Three Generals of Etruria were exquisite battlefield commanders in their own right, they did not equal Bern's Dragon Generals. With the notable exception of Narshen, Cecilia feared that her and her contemporaries were outclassed by Brunya and Murdock. Through brilliant in their own right, the Etrurian generals simply did not have the training and military education that the Bern generals did. The two generals reflected this superiority in their respective campaigns, both of which were astounding successes.

Dragon General Brunya, an accomplished mage near the age of thirty, was a textbook general. Favoring discipline and basic book-like tactics, Brunya held dominance through her superb execution of basic yet effective strategies. Throughout the march in Sacae, Brunya maintained a stubborn approach for her advance; creating a ring of armor with her knight and heavy cavalry, she helped to protect her archers and mages. Then, using those protected archers and mages, she used them to bombard her foes at long range through mages and ballistae. Once her foes' defenses were weakened, she would relentlessly storm them with heavy cavalry and heavy infantry. Through this discipline, she brushed aside any Sacaean attempts at resistance, both of concentrated defense and guerilla attacks.

Despite that, Cecilia believed Brunya was possible to defeat by Cecilia herself. Both were generals that favored discipline and tried tactics over innovation; if the two generals were to square off on Etruria soil, Cecilia was confident that she could claim victory. Though the battle would ultimately turn into a slugfest with victories being exchanged tit-for-tat, Cecilia shorter supply lines and familiarity with the environment would allow her to claim victory, though at the expense of most of her army.

What worried the Mage General the most, however, was that Murdock would be granted high command of the invasion. _'And after his campaign in Ilia, that will be highly likely.'_

It came as a high surprise to many in Elibe that Murdock would be leading the invasion of Ilia. Although possessing a style similar to that of Douglas, Murdock had been unproven in battle. Throughout most of Desmond's reign and most of Zephiel's, Murdock had not commanded anything besides a training exercise practiced deep within Bern's mountains. Many in Elibe wondered if Murdock was competent enough to hold the post of Dragon General or if he was merely connected to the royal family. When the invasion of Ilia had begun, much of Elibe snickered after it became known that Murdock was leading. In short time though, Murdock stunned all of Elibe.

Possessing a complete and detailed grasp of all of his resources, Murdock moved with stunning efficiency and brutality in his conquest. Coordinating Bern's vaunted wyverns with his infantry and cavalry perfectly, Murdock decimated the Ilian resistance in nearly half the time it took Brunya to take Sacae. Although he was still located within Ilia due to the harsh winter, he forces would soon be available to attack Etruria. Although Cecilia was confident in her ability to stop Brunya, she sincerely doubted that Murdock could be stopped by any person in Etruria.

'_Overlooking his stratagem, Murdock is also one of the greatest warriors alive. It had been said that Murdock himself dealt death to nearly a score of swordsmen at the same time in Ilia. He is truly a machine for which Bern can deal death.' _Cecilia sighed and tapped her nails against the desk, her hand running through her hair once more. _'Even with Murdock and Brunya aside, Zephiel has no shortage of great commanders. Narshen, for all of his arrogance and lack of foresight, does have some certain skill. And Gale even more than Narshen. As if Zephiel did not already have enough tools to use, he himself is a brilliant battlefield commander and the greatest swordsman of our age. Coupled with the brilliant foresight of his minister, Orer, Zephiel can truly ring the death knell for Elibe.'_

At this, her mind exploded into white as a searing headache hit her, causing her to groan in annoyance. Leaning back in her chair, Cecilia ran her hands over her face, groaning loudly as she did so. It was only after this did she realize that a soldier stood off in the doorway, completely ignored by his exasperated general. "Yes?"

"General Cecilia, General Percival wishes to see you. He has news of Araphen."

Cecilia shot up at this, looking over towards the doorway. "Send him in. Be sure that none disturb us."

"Of course General."

After a moment or two, Percival stepped into the room, heels clicking against the stone floor. An impressive sight to those who would hadn't seen him before, Percival looked like the knights of old. Light blonde hair was combed off to the sight, out of the eyesight of brilliant and intelligent brown eyes. Garbed in black armor, Percival looked like the personification of knighthood itself.

As soon as the Knight General had stepped into her office, Cecilia knew something was wrong. Instead of the earnest and kind aura that Percival typically exuded, there was something dark and foreboding in its place. "What is it Percival?"

"Araphen has fallen."

Cecilia could only stare at the stack of papers that Percival had dropped on her desk. She felt her mouth droop open for a moment before closing it wordlessly. "What?"

"Araphen has fallen in battle," he repeated, "the castle has been destroyed, the marquises executed, the garrison captured, and Lord Hector died in battle."

Strangely, her headache disappeared. She believed that her brain had finally overloaded and simply did not know how to process anything, including pain. "How many dead?"

Percival sat down in the other chair, "according to reports, Hector managed to take out his army's worth. Likewise, half of the Lycian army was taken as prisoner."

"So two to one."

"Indeed."

Cecilia tapped the arms of her chair. "I'm guessing he bled them dry. Or was intending to."

"I'd wager you're correct." Percival looked at the pile of papers that contained the reports. "The part that has me concerned is how the battle ended. Our agents reported that a gigantic crash could be heard even from the countryside as giant flames could be seen in the night. No one knows what happened. Something is telling me that Zephiel has a trick up his sleeve. Possibly a stellar magician or a large contraption of some sort."

"That is it then…" Cecilia digested the information with a sour heart. "It seems Etruria's worst fear has come then. We'll be fighting on three fronts."

"Indeed," Percival pointed to Ostia on the large map Cecilia had unfurled, "all reports state that Narshen's force is moving towards Ostia as we speak. Once they capture Ostia – and by all numbers they can – that may be it for us."

Cecilia looked up at this. "Narshen is the one leading the invasion on Lycia?"

"That seems to be the case, yes. Murdock is still in Ilia, Brunya returned to Sacae to finish rooting out the individual tribes while Zephiel has returned to Bern. Narshen is the only one left." Percival looked at her, puzzled. "Why does this matter?"

"Because Narshen is the only Dragon General I am certain I can defeat." Cecilia found new energy at this as the options started to open up in her mind. "How is he marching?"

"In a straight line," Percival indicated the path his forces were taking, "he's moving west from Araphen through Tuscany and Thria before attacking Ostia. He's going for the head, to be sure."

"In any other country, that would work. In Lycia though…" Cecilia stood and bent over the map, "there are so many different little territories and dukedoms. If you ignore any sort of large concentration, then it could easily blindside you." Cecilia looked over to Percival, "do you know if any Lycian states were not at Araphen?"

"Laus and Pherae."

"Right…Eliwood has fallen ill and Roy was to head back to Pherae to take his father's place…but Laus? That would be perfect to ambush Narshen from behind. With Pherae and Laus' cavalry charging them from behind against the walls of Ostia, Narshen would be quashed in two."

"Ostia is nowhere near as defended as it could be. Narshen may be able to take it before Laus and Pherae are able to move."

Cecilia grinned at him, her eyes twinkling. "That's where we'll come in."

The older general blinked as he looked at Cecilia. "I don't understand."

"Narshen is arrogant but he's not stupid. He surely must realize that if a force nearly equal to his or larger is within Ostia, there's no possible way he could attack it and take the day." Cecilia paused. "Therefore, what we should do is march to Ostia. We'll put on a show of force and declare that Ostia is a protectorate of Etruria. That'll put pause in Narshen's steps. Then, when Laus and Pherae draw up from behind, he'll be crushed."

"What if Murdock or Brunya invades from the north or east?"

"The permafrost from the Treta Mountains has not yet melted, which means Murdock's forces have no method of marching to Etruria." She indicated Bulgar, "likewise, Brunya won't be able to march through Sacae until she subdues the enemy tribes. They'll cut off her supply routes. No, we will be fine, I think."

Percival nodded for a moment before looking up suddenly. "There's a small hitch in your plans, Cecilia. Only the royal family can declare war. How do you suppose you are going to get around that, if we're not even allowed at court?"

"Simple," she grinned that feral grin once more, "what they don't know won't hurt them. We'll bluff both Bern and Etruria in one brilliant move."

"You're insane. But in a good way." The Knight General chuckled as he began to exit the room, making sure he didn't open the door yet. "I'll summon my legion immediately."

"I knew you would help Percival." They nodded to one another before Percival grasped the door handle to the castle halls. "Oh! As always don't-"

"Tell Douglas, I know, I know."

Cecilia grinned before rising from her chair, following Percival in his exit. There was much to do if they were going to trick the two strongest countries in Elibe!

* * *

><p>"C'mon lads, let's get at 'em!"<p>

Dieck and his men charged ahead, ignoring the looks of the few denizens that remained within Araphen. When Araphen was under attack by Bern stones and arrows, many of the peasantry had fled the great castle; many of them, however, had remained behind, continuing to carry out business as always. In particular, some of the shop owners found their profits increase dramatically with the lack of competition. Free to charge up their prices as they saw fit, these men were the only ones in Araphen who found pleasure in the war.

These were the men that cowered in their homes as Dieck and his men stormed past; often, regardless if it be the invader or the defender that was victorious, the citizens of the conquered territory would inform their overlords of any peculiar activity. Though it was common practice in times of war, these swindlers were looked upon as bandits and men of the worse sort and there was often heavy retribution for these activities.

Dieck, however, had no interest in such things. He had always been a man to protect people but he knew when the time was to do such things. With the force of forty mercenaries at his back, the grizzled veteran was to leave the main charge to the Pheraen cavalry. Instead, he and his mercenaries were redirected to a route that Mark had knew of from his previous expeditions in the city.

The Western men were to sneak around the ruined walls and enter the city, where they were to take great pains not to be seen. Following a map that Mark had given him, Dieck led his men through the city before coming upon a small section of the barracks that seemed ancient in appearance. Calling for an order for his men to stop, Dieck looked intently down at the instructions that the man had written for him.

"What now Boss?" Ward asked from the side, grunting has he unhitched his axe from his belt. "All that's here is an old building."

"He's reading something bro. Wait a moment."

Dieck looked appreciatively over his shoulder to Lot, who simply nodded in return. A few moments after reading the piece of parchment, Dieck gestured for his men to gather around him save for a few mercenaries who formed a small circle around the company. Dieck cleared his throat before clearly stating the instructions to his men. "Commander Dieck, if you are at the spot I have indicated on the map, you are doing well. Here, you will find that the path seems to be blocked off. In my travels many moons ago, I happened upon Castle Araphen's deepest secret. In these three locations, you will find the key to revealing the secret pathway of the Castle of Three Rivers." Dieck led a thick finger around the map, tapping a few locations marked with a red dot. "At these three locations are levers that will draw back a stone portion of the wall. Once all three are pulled, the way will reveal itself. The path will take you and your men into Araphen's throne room; from there, you will act as the hammer and you will crush the Bern defenders from behind. Good luck Commander and godspeed. Mark."

"Well," Lot scratched his head, "what're we gonna do Boss?"

Dieck bit his lip for a moment before looking at his company. "Lot, take a handful of men and go to this southernmost point." The older man nodded before gesturing for his fellow mercenaries to follow his lead. "Ward", the axe-user nodded, "take a few men yourself and traverse to this location."

"What about the rest of us?"

"The rest of you will follow me. Once the way reveals itself, we storm through."

* * *

><p>Kilnt took his steel helmet off for the fifth time that candlemark, sweat running down his brow profusely. His purple tunic under his platemail was soaked in sweat, turning the royal color almost indigo in color; his uncovered hands left a dark imprint on the oak shaft of his lance as he waited. Although he could definitely see the movement of the encroaching force, he felt relieved as they moved slowly forwards. Although the host was almost definitely the vaunted Pherae (or perhaps an imposter force using the Pheraen Hawk as a way of intimidation), they moved uncharacteristically slowly which unnerved Kilnt more than if they charged. As he waited for his commander to return, the sergeant felt his stomach sink lower and lower.<p>

"Lenel," the soldier beside him looked his way, "has Lieutenant Slater returned yet?"

"No sir. He's still in the throne room. Shall I fetch him, sir?"

"Please." Kilnt watched as the man jogged off, his steel armor clanging as he did so. Kilnt returned to his vigil before his jaw dropped. In the span of nearly a minute, the Pheraen host had ordered a full charge and was pounding down the dusty plains towards the ruined fortress. Off in the distance, Kilnt could discern the sound of bugles sounding to the march; behind him, the sergeant heard the stirrings of both Bern regulars and Lycian captives as the force drew closer. Realizing that an assembled Bern force was superior to standing alone, Kilnt summoned the Bern soldiers to the defense, ignoring the rumbling noise coming from the Lycian prisoners.

"Bern, we hold this castle at any and all costs! Form a wall with your shields if you have them…plug up the main entrances and hold for my word!" Kilnt screamed as he ran down the stone steps, taking his place at the front of the line. As he held his lance at eye level, Kilnt couldn't help but wonder where Slater was. Spitting at his own feet, the sergeant mumbled under his breath. "Damned coward…"

"Sergeant Kilnt," a young man jogged up to him, clad in green armor, arms crossed over his chest, "the Lycian prisoners are rebelling! What shall we do sir?"

Kilnt grimaced before slinking away out of sight, not allowing his men to know what was happening. The two jogged over to the courtyard, where the men were being held. "How? They were all secured!"

"Well, sir…"

"Spit it out man!"

The young soldier nodded, brown hair escaping from under his helm. "Sir! One of the Lycian prisoners somehow managed to get free! She is freeing all of them!"

"Damnable…" Sure enough, as Kilnt looked through the excited crowd, a brunette woman was making her way through the crowd of prisoners. At her side, a sword rested in its sheath as she used a knife to cut through the bonds holding their arms and legs still. As Kilnt tried to track her down, he noticed the crest on her chest; realizing he had seen that crest somewhere else, the sergeant tried to turn towards the young soldier beside him before a pain pierced his right side. Looking down in horror, Kilnt watched as his lifeblood poured out onto the cobbled hallway. Turning his head, Kilnt looked aghast as the young soldier withdrew his lance before running over to assist the female in releasing the prisoners. As the sergeant bled out, he cursed his cowardly lieutenant before realizing Slater had almost definitely been killed. With his dying breath, Kilnt whistled before his head splashed down into the crimson puddle.

* * *

><p>Befitting the largest city in Lycia and third largest in all of Elibe, Ostia was a bustling city with one of the richest commercial districts on the continent. Crossed by three major streets, the district possessed a wide variety of shops and businesses, ranging from silversmiths and carpenters to jesters-for-hire and mask shops. Merchants and peddlers hollered their wares to passer-bys as some employees merely stood outside their shops, a large sign hanging over their chest and backs. The commercial district was one of the few places in Ostia where the rich and poor openly crossed paths – though the nobles tended to stick to the north end of the district, few could be seen in the southern end with their servants and guards, perusing the wares sold there.<p>

Naturally, the amount of wealth and merchandise that was centralized in one spot attracted sticky fingers and shady characters to liberate more than their fair share of items or money. To counteract this, the Knights of the Steel Guard often posted numerous amounts of knights to the district to deter any acts of thievery. Holding stoic vigil over the populace throughout the district, stealing was kept to record lows once Hector ascended the throne. Keeping his knights in the district, Hector trained specific security guards to be posted within every store in the district; by reposting the knights who were previously there to the streets, the entire commercial area was more effectively watched over and thieves were no longer remotely successful in taking large hauls.

Since the departure of Lord Hector, however, thievery had skyrocketed. Since General Leygance took the role of Regent, he dismissed the guards that Hector had posted within the shops, claiming that the Ostian coffers did not allow for such paltry duties, Leygance reverted to the old custom of simply keeping some of the Steel Guard on the streets. This resulted in an increasing number of pickpockets roaming the streets, far outnumbering the depleted guards. Despite this, the Ostian knights tried the best they could to maintain security in the area but they were defeated in this regard more often than not.

For Wendy, the entire situation was completely aggravating. Recently promoted to the position of captain, the pink-haired knight was dumbfounded at the incompetence that General Leygance was showing. Completely isolating his fellow knight commanders, Leygance had holed up inside the keep alongside Devias and their men; refusing to allow Lady Lilina to exit the castle due to 'security concerns', Leygance had effectively consolidated all power to himself. Well, most of it.

A notable group of powerful individuals had formed an opposition of sorts against Leygance, refusing to meet with him or recognize his power. Led by Sir Barth, they called for the release of Lady Lilina after her return and subsequent disappearance in Castle Ostia. Due to these demands, the pseudo-resistance was backed by the majority of the populace; although they were popular, they were outplayed by the intelligent Leygance and were forced out of the keep. Nonetheless, they still held their peerage and the men under their command were allowed into the castle, provided Barth did not join them. Their ranks consisted of mainly Barth and Bors men, though the band of mercenaries under Zealot had also swollen their ranks. With over three score fully knighted armor knights, a score of pages and squires, and three-and-a-half score of mercenaries cavalry and swordsmen, Barth's unlikely group nearly equaled Leygance's combined force of mercenary and soldier. Though the two would never force direct conflict so as to prevent a civil riot, the odds were evenly drawn.

To Wendy, it was all unbelievable. A mere three months prior, her only focus was on obtaining her knighthood and proving herself. Now, however, with the war at Araphen and the civil unrest in Ostia, it was nearly unthinkable to believe that there had been a time where everything was relatively normal.

"Ah, here you are Wendy." The knight turned to her left where a mercenary emerged. "I was looking for you."

"Well met Oujay."

Unlike normal mercenaries, Oujay's principal concern was not solely money. Although it was known that the young mercenary sent any money he made back to his family, he never attempted to swindle more than his fair share. It was this decency and chivalry that caused Wendy to trust him: coupled with his sturdy sword arm and she considered him to be a valuable ally, one that she could depend on.

"You've been out here longer than need be you know?" The bluenette grinned before handing a bottle out to the knight. Before she could inspect the contents, the mercenary held a gloved hand in the air, palm flat and facing out. "I promise, all that's in there is water. I couldn't find a waterskin so I washed out an old ale bottle for you."

Wendy nodded appreciatively as she popped the cork off, "thank you Oujay." Drinking from the bottle, she was surprised to see how truly tired she was. In an effort to stem some of the work from some of the other knights, she volunteered to pull double duty and cover a knight whose son was sick. "What brings you over here? Shouldn't you be relaxing back at the inn?"

The young man shrugged, "well, I would have been but I knew you were out here alone, so…"

"Well," she smiled, "that's very kind of you Oujay. Thank you."

Silence between the two for a few moments as Wendy looked around her for a moment. Although night had fallen some candlemarks ago, she knew not what time it truly was. Although she could typically look up at the moon and make a decent guess at the time, the moon was hidden behind a thick veil of clouds. The lack of starlight made the torch she held the only source of light outside of the torches that were scattered alongside some of the stores. The entire street was covered in black darkness as the only two souls visible were herself and Oujay, both due to the fire beside them.

In truth, though she was a knight, Wendy still felt incredibly on edge by herself in the darkness. She could surely handle herself against one, possibly two men, but she was no fool – she knew that if she were ganged up on, she would not be able to hold her ground. She also knew that she was a woman and she knew that when night fell, those with unscrupulous actions were attracted to deeds against Elimine. She was in no mood to lose her womanhood to any person besides her husband and she felt relieved, inwardly, that Oujay would stay with her.

"You know Oujay," she nudged a rock with the butt of her lance, "I am surprised that you are a mercenary."

"Why is that?"

"Well, think of this way. One," she held up a finger, "you're far too kind to be a cutthroat merc. Two, you aren't obsessed with money nor are you cheap. Three, you actually seem to care about what you do and you're not just in it for the money. No typical sellsword would venture out in the darkness just to make sure one of the knights is alright."

The mercenary simply shrugged as he leaned his sword against a crate, cracking his neck as he did so. "I dunno. I didn't choose to be a mercenary because I wanted to be. It was the easiest way for me to make money for my family. It was hard dealing with those roughnecks but…it got easier. I'm just happy you don't consider me to be like those other mercenaries."

"Of course not," Wendy shook her head, "you're much better than them. At fighting too. I've not seen anyone swing their sword so fast before."

Oujay looked at his feet abashedly. "Nonsense. I just follow my inst-…did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Oujay put a finger to his lip before pointing to his right; Wendy's eyes followed his finger. As she looked over to where he was pointing, she could have sworn she saw one of the torches near her flicker slightly. "I hear voices. Someone is coming."

Wendy watched as three men ambled down the street, a bottle passing around between the three of them. She glanced at the swords at their waste before making a face; she knew almost instantly that they were some of Leygance's sellswords. Watching as Oujay grabbed his sword from the crate, she prepared herself as they drew near. "Good evening, sirs."

"Mmm, well a good evenin' to you too, lass." The largest mercenary, a bald man with a scruffy beard, drew close to her. "My, what's that ya got there? Is that some goodies for ole Darcar?"

"It's just water. I brought it for her."

"Well, did ye now? That's not going to do…" Seizing the bottle from her hands, the mercenary named Darcar tossed it over his shoulder where it shattered with a crash. Wendy visibly winced, causing the man to frown. "Oh, I be sorry. Where are mah manners? Here…lemme make it up to you, sweetheart."

Motioning forward, he grabbed her wrist before Oujay grabbed Darcar's own. "Good sir, please do respect the lady's personal space. It is the gentlemanly thing to do, no?"

"Right, right…" Darcar raised his hands before looking his shoulder. "I'll treat her like a lady…boys," the two goons at his side perked up, "hold the kid. I'm gonna treat sweetheart here like a real lady."

Before the two could move however, a glint of steel flashed in the firelight before a sputtering noise followed. One of Darcar's men, a scrawny rat-like man, clutched at his neck before he tripped over his feet. Almost instantly, another knife followed, this one burying itself in the eye of the other man. Darcar, realizing what had just happened, turned instantly, his eyes scanning the darkness. "Alright! C'mon out here tough guy…lemme show ya how to fight."

"Very well then…I'll come out and play with you, little mouse." Wendy watched as a shadow emerged from her left, shapeless at first. Although the man was covered in a dark fabric, she was still able to make out a mess of sandy-colored hair atop his head. "I've had quite enough of your filth dirtying up Lord Hector's city."

"Oh…" Darcar pulled out his sword, a thick looking blade with many nicks along the backside. "So yer the one who has been killin' all o' us?"

"That's right, big boy. Think you have what it takes to stop a killer?"

"Lord Leygance will gimme a reward once I gut you like a fish!"

Darcar lunged forward with his iron blade, chopping downwards with much force. The man simply stood there for a moment before he dodged at the last second, a simple sidestep maneuver that left Darcar dumbfounded. Switching his hold on the hilt, the mercenary tried a horizontal cut before the shadow ducked under the blade. Realizing he had left his side open, Darcar swung out with his left fist.

For the first time in the small scuffle, the man drew his weapons, a deadly curved dagger that was nearly the length of his forearm. His arm flew up from the crimson cloak before Darcar drew his arm back, mouth agape at what used to remain of his arm. Throwing his stub of an arm to the side, Darcar attempted to swing the powerful blade overhead before the assassin's blade flashed once more. Darcar gurgled as a flat line of blood spurted from his throat as his jugular was severed. He fell to the ground in a heap, where he pitifully tried to talk before suffocating on his own blood.

Wendy raised her lance in preparation to engage the man before he simply raised his hands. Though she still could not see most of his body or his face, she trusted her gut reaction and lowered her weapon, Oujay doing the same. Seeing this, the man nodded. "Sorry I didn't pop out sooner. Gotta be sure before you kill someone, you know?"

"Indeed…" Wendy looked at the man, astounded that he did not even have a splatter of blood on his red cloak. "If I may ask, who are you?"

"Ah. I apologize. I should probably remove my hood, yeah?" The red hood was lowered as Wendy looked at a middle-aged but youthful man; amber eyes stared at her warmly before a cocky grin appeared on the man's face. She knew this man! "That better?"

"Wendy, who is this?"

The pink-garbed knight turned to her companion, gesturing with her hand. "Oujay, this is-"

"The Head of Intelligence." With a flourish, the spy dipped low. "Pleased to meet you. My name is Matthew."

* * *

><p><em>April 28<em>_th__, 999 A.S._

_Araphen,_

_The castle has been retaken just a candlemark ago. Our attack was wholly successful as we lost only two horsemen – wonderful if you ask me. Master Roy, of course, was wholeheartedly deflated but that is to be expected. His father was the same way, vulnerable to even the slightest injury inflicted on his allies. The part that does worry me is that while the father ultimately knew what had to be done and could make the sacrifice, the son cannot yet. Perhaps it is due to his age or maybe it is nativity with the world? We shall soon see; either way, it shall become irrelevant. It matters not._

_Through our ferocious charge up the gate and Dieck's men sneaking through the passageway I had remembered, we effectively crushed them between us. The only slight thing was that Dieck's men never made contact with the enemy. Although the commander had nearly been forced to fight fellow Lycian remnants in the tunnels, it was actually those damnable Caelin knights who had completed the pincer movement. I say damnable with friendliness of course. Some of my closest and greatest companions were from Caelin – it pleases me to know that I shall have some of their finest alongside myself once more._

Mark looked up from his journal as he heard his tent flap being pulled back. The master tactician looked over his shoulder as a suit of green armor came into view. Fighting back the urge to grin, Mark stood and faced his old companion. "Sain, I should have figured you wouldn't ask for permission."

"I believe I asked for permission once or twice, when we were with Lady Lyn." The Green Lance grinned before offering out his hand. "It's been far too long Mark."

Mark eagerly took the knight's hand, grasping it tightly. "Unless you count Lyn's pyre, that is."

"I try not to think of it…it's easier to stem the pain if you don't think about it." The two friends stood together for a moment, each reminiscing in the past. For the members of the Campaign of Fire, it was easy to say that those few months had easily been some of the most difficult yet greatest of their lives. "It's safe to say that you'll be leading us once more, O Famed Genius?"

"Quit sprouting such words with your forked tongue." Nonetheless, Mark smiled widely. "Yes, I'll be here once again. Maybe you'll listen better this time? As in actually using your sword and not your lance?"

"Please Mark, do you think I am an amateur? The lance is the bravest and most heroic of weapons!" Sain grinned before patting Mark's shoulder. "It'll be my son you'll worry about. He favors the lance above all else. Mighty good with it too."

"Your son is here hm? Seems there are many offspring in this camp."

"Who else?"

Mark held up two fingers. "Rebecca and Wil's son, Wolt. Good but inexperienced archer, just like his parents were. Then of course, Eliwood and Ninian's son, Roy."

Sain raised an eyebrow. "I had heard Lord Eliwood's son would be leading Pherae. What is he like? Like his father?"

"Very much so. Idealistic, brave, educated, charismatic. He'll be even greater than his father."

"Why is that?"

Mark looked over at Sain, who knew what the tactician was going to say. "Call it a gut instinct." The two stood in relative yet comfortable silence for a few moments before Mark snapped his fingers. "Ah, Sain. Where is Hector?" Because it was so late into the night – or morning, if one wished to be specific – Mark had completely forgot to inquire of his dear friend.

The Green Lance was unresponsive for a moment. Staring down at his heels, his silence spoke volumes. For Mark, it was shocking yet unsurprising. He should have already guessed that Hector had fallen alongside Araphen. So little foresight and so excited was he, however, that he had overlooked this crucial fact. Finding his feet to feel like gelatin, the strategist sat down before standing once more. "Where is his tomb?"

"I know not. Perhaps you should ask the prisoners."

Mark took his leave from the tent, his deep green cloak flapping behind him. To the typical individual, a war camp was confusing. Busy and congested, the camp held no seeming shape or pattern. To an experienced soldier or strategist, however, a war camp was perfectly laid out. To Mark, everything had its place and was where it was supposed to be; every little thing had its place and its importance. After twenty years of guiding war camps such as these, he felt more at home here than he did in a comfortable bed.

Eventually discovering the location of Lord Hector's body, Mark felt his feet dragging behind him. As he came upon the mound of stones, Mark felt his knees strengthen and he stiffened. Plunging into the mound of rubble was Hector's axe, Wolf Beil. Mark remembered how many lives it had taken in the Campaign and he could only imagine the number of lives it claimed in Hector's valiant defense of Araphen. Nodding his head, Mark tapped his forehead before pressing it against the base of the grave.

"Hector, my friend. I am here at least."

* * *

><p>Lycia, though nowhere near the most beautiful of countries, possessed a quaint and pleasing appearance of its landscape. Though lacking the rolling grasses of Sacae, the impressive mountains of Bern, or the bumpy hills of Etruria, the Lycian countryside was calm and relaxing in itself, particularly due to the many farms that dotted the land. Mainly agrarian in nature, Lycia contrasted greatly from its neighbors to the east and north whom were quickly urbanizing; because of this, Lycia and its farmlands were amongst some of the largest in Elibe, becoming the breadbasket of Elibe – though none of this was squandered on foreign mouths without something in return!<p>

Fields of golden wheat and rows of colorful fruits helped to distinguish the farms from the surrounding countryside, creating a bland mural of plants. Though from the ground, it was certainly beautiful, it wasn't until one took to the air that the land below them really came alive and took a shape of its own. The land turned into a beautiful picture of God's creation, the world itself. As Narshen flew, he smiled as he looked down. He adored nature, he always had.

Since the duel earlier that morning, Narshen had started to feel much more rejuvenated. His arm no longer ached from the mercenary's blows and his mind was fresh with the might of the sword that he had claimed. The blue blade, unusual in appearance, was one of the most magnificent blades that Narshen had ever seen. Light in weight and sharp as a newly forged silver blade, the sword was a masterpiece. Making sure it stayed safely in his scabbard, Narshen had no intentions on revealing it to his men – when they would next see it, it would be because of Zephiel's reward for his conquest of Lycia!

His men had little room to complain though for Narshen's quest to pillage the countryside had been extremely successful. Both food and riches had been liberated from the hands of merchants, farmers, and magistrates as Narshen's wyvern riders purged the Lycian countryside of its wealth. Although they had only flown over the Araphen and Tuscan lands, their pockets were lined with gold, silver, and all sorts of different gems. Though they had lost many of their friends and brothers at the walls of Araphen, the newfound heaviness of their pockets helped to cease much of that dissent. Similar to how one keeps a man quiet with liquor, Narshen kept his men appeased with riches.

Realizing that because his king was returning to Bern to overlook the final conquests and annexation of Ilia and Sacae into the mountain kingdom, Narshen began to establish supply lines independent of those in Bern. Sending out much of his infantry and all of his cavalry, Narshen forced many of the smaller towns and villages around Araphen and Tuscany to pay tribute to him in the way of food and grain. In the day and a half that had passed since his departure from Araphen, Narshen had been pleased to hear that his army had camped a day's ride from Araphen. Closer to where they could attack Ostia while still receiving supplies from Araphen, Narshen could easily strike at Lycia's heard and tear it asunder. With Ostia serving as the last bastion of Lycian defense, felling the city would cause Lycia to fall. With no other lords alive besides the ill Eliwood, Lycia would be leaderless.

With the exception of one slimy, weasel-like man.

Instructing the majority of his forced to double back to the camp, Narshen had taken a score of riders with him to the west, where he was journeying to Laus. Arranging a meeting with Erik of Laus, Narshen intended to put the Lycian lord in his place. Narhen, as the son of a noble, had dealt with Erik's ilk before; all of them were loud talkers, claiming many things on which they had no method of backing. Similar to a dog that has a loud bark, Narshen quickly realized that verbal threats and a show of force quickly quieted upstarts such as Erik and bent them to his will.

As Castle Laus came into view, Narshen resisted the urge to crinkle his nose. Unlike Araphen or Ostia, which were grand castles that even Etrurians respected, Laus was a backcountry region. For all of Erik's claims about Laus military prowess, his castle did nothing to help reflect the supposed might. Simple in design and easy to sack, Castle Laus played a distant fourth fiddle to the Lycian castles of Ostia, Araphen, and Pherae.

As he descended towards the castle, Narshen noticed as three men rode out from the castle. Recognizing the balding head of Erik, Narshen instructed his wingmate to follow him; although the other riders would not follow, they would be within eyeshot as insurance against any treachery. As Narshen watched Erik dismount, he noticed the archers positioned around the top of the castle. Smirking quietly to himself, Narshen hopped off his wyvern with his arms out wide. "Marquis Erik! A pleasure, a pleasure…"

"Lord Narshen, how fares you and your men?"

The Dragon General completely disregarded the question as he peered at Erik through greedy eyes. Although Narshen was arrogant, he was not incompetent – he knew exactly why Erik requested a conference but he would inquire regardless. "What is it that you want, Marquis Laus?"

Taken aback, Erik stumbled over his next few words. "Er, w-what do you m-mean?"

"Why did you send a messenger?"

"Well," he regained his composure, "I was merely wondering how we would…split Lycia. If you understand what I'm attempting to say."

Narshen merely looked the Marquis of Laus up and down before sizing up the two men beside him. One of them possessed the look of a typical dog, a knight tied to his master like a bloodhound was to a tree; nodding his head and agreeing in conjuncture with anything Erik said, similar to how a toddler agrees with their parents. The other man, however, caught Narshen's interest. Garbed in a deep red, the man wore nearly no armor save for leather vambraces on his forearms; his hair was brown in color and it flowed freely in the wind, unhampered by any sort of restrictive bind. What Narshen noticed most was where the man's sword was held. While most, if not all, knights wore their swords on the hip closest to their lord in order to stave off attacks quickly, the red robed man wore his on the hip away from Erik. Though it was a subtle action by the man's part, Narshen picked up on it and knew the man held no loyalty towards Marquis Laus.

"Lord Narshen?"

"Yes?"

Erik shifted uncomfortably side to side. "Did you…ah, hear me?"

"Oh, yes, I did." Narshen looked at Erik down over the bridge of his nose. "I thought of this beforehand and I've concocted something I'm sure you'll agree to." At Erik's insistence, Narshen continued with a flourish. "You see, Marquis, I'm a man with many things to accomplish. I am young and am in good health. The world is my apple and I intend to do great things with it. And Ostia, to me, is nothing but a stepping stone. A stepping stone upon which I intend to conquer all of Elibe for His Majesty. So does Ostia mean anything to me?" Narshen paused before he glared at Erik, who stepped backwards from the intimidating stare. "I could not give two shits about Ostia or damned Lycia. All I care about is victory. Ostia is merely a smaller victory that shall allow me to claim a larger one. So, rule Lycia, I could not care less. But if you think I shall allow you, a slimy cretin of a man, to take my victory…" Narshen leaned closed, "then you are sorely mistaken, _Marquis Laus._"

"L-Lord Narshen…but His Majesty…"

"Lord Erik. I will not repeat myself. If you so much as march your army upon Ostia without my go-ahead, I will raze Laus to the ground." Narshen mentally smirked as Erik floundered, "I will do this for you. If Ostia has not been taken in fifteen days, I will cede the opportunity to you. Likewise, if I fail, I will cede the opportunity to you. Is this acceptable?"

"Of course."

Half a candlemark later, Narshen and his score of riders were streaking back east towards Araphen to collect the rest of their army.

* * *

><p>The Royal Bern Procession was an annual event wherein the royal guards of the king would march throughout the city, displaying their might. After the guards made their way through the crowded streets, many of Bern's wyvern riders would walk through on their mounts, much to the amusement of the peasants. Following the riders, the newest graduates from the Bern Academy would follow through before pledging their fealty to the King of Bern. A large and grandiose event, it was a fairly recent development, having only been truly in effect since Zephiel's rise to power as Crown Prince. Although former King Desmond agreed to his son's ideas, Desmond had never once attended the parade, allowing his son to sit in his stead.<p>

Although Zephiel had never missed the procession since its founding ten years prior, he was noticeably absent this year, returning from his triumph in Araphen. Already, word of Bern's conquest had traveled to the capital city where it quickly spread like wildfire. Celebrations and parties quickly ensued as the peasantry brought out their finest ales and wines for the event and nobles even gave to the celebrations with ale from their own cellars. To any Bern citizen, the event was a happy and pleasing one.

At least, to most Bern citizens.

As Orer looked out over the frolicking men and women, he couldn't help but think of the numbers. The numbers of estimated dead Bern soldiers, the two dead war dragons, all the money lost, the fortifications ruined, the length of transport lines, the number of men left to invade Lycia. Day in and out, Orer's only thoughts were to the great war they were undertaking and the Prime Minister of Bern gave his greatest efforts to the contribution. As he stared out over the celebrating citizens, he couldn't help but think of all the food and drink going to waste – all of those rations could be used for Bern soldiers, both at home and abroad. Ultimately, however, he reminded himself that every nation needed a happy populace or else it would crumble from its very foundation.

Sitting in the large and elegant golden throne, Orer calmly stared out over his folded hands. The strategist had taken the place of his king for the event due to his position as the effective second in command of the nation; it was for this reason that Orer was able to knight many of the new recruits, although they all pledged allegiance to Zephiel and not to Orer. That's how the aged man preferred it anyways – he enjoyed working in the background, not in the eyesight of others.

Despite that, his post still demanded public appearances every now and again. Due to his prestige as well as his position, Orer was forced into doing certain tasks he certainly did not wish to do. However, this was ultimately all a very small sacrifice for what advice and stratagems he was able to provide his lord. Recognizing that Zephiel knew of no other way to repay the strategist, Orer took the position with pride and gratefulness despite his personal dislike for it. Nonetheless, he maintained the position well and became one of the most efficient ministers in recent history. By enacting both domestic and foreign policies, Orer helped to both improve the lives of Bern citizens while also strengthening Bern's position in international politics.

Although Orer was an accomplished politician, his true talents lie within the realm of tactics. Having studied the greatest strategist and tacticians in Elibean history, Orer had formed a blend of old-style battle tactics with new-style; relying on the old methods of power and armor and coupling it with the new methods of maneuverability and magic, Orer's battlefield plans were second to none.

This prowess was not due to pure talent or knowledge: Orer spent countless hours creating and recreating strategies and battle plans and general methods of advancement on his numerous maps. It was through this painstaking process that any kinks or hitches in the plots were eventually eliminated, resulting in a nearly flawless plan if it was executed properly.

Although Orer was supposed to be paying attention to the procession, he was in fact drafting yet another plan for the march. Although some of Orer's favorite plans were of assaulting a castle or fortification, it was far more important for Bern that the march through Lycia be conducted properly. Unlike Bern or Etruria, where the armies were centralized, Lycia's armies were divided. Although this made Lycia as a whole easier to defeat, it made it much more difficult to occupy.

It was for this reason that Orer was drafting a course that would lead Narshen through the heart of Lycia. By splitting the country into two, Orer hoped to crush any attempt at rallying a resistance. By using Narshen's army to control the northern half of Lycia and Erik of Laus to patrol the Laus River, Orer hoped to create a noose around Ostia with Narshen's forces. Although the Impregnable Castle was almost impossible to siege, it could be starved and with full control of the river along with Bern's plentiful resources, the task was easily within reach.

As he drew a line through Tuscany and Araphen, Orer was disturbed by the presence of the man beside him. "Yes?"

"Lord Orer. Message for you." The page held out a scroll of parchment to the prime minister. Taking the piece of paper with irritation, Orer quickly dismissed the grateful lieutenant. What he saw inside did not please him in the slightest.

His teeth nearly gritting in rage at Narshen's stupidity, Orer crumpled up the paper. Out of the nearly four hundred men Narshen commanded, he had left a token force of fifty to guard Araphen. Coupled with the fact that there was over one hundred Lycian prisoners within the keep, Orer nearly throttled the bodyguard beside him. Bern's prime minister relaxed himself after a moment however and then stood from the throne, walking away from the celebrations. He was going to end Narshen's follies once and for all.

"Master Orer, where are you going?"

"To Lycia."

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><p><em>Read and review.<em>


	6. Cyclical Storm

_Sorry it took so long for an update. My dearest apologies. I have just started college so it has been a long time...however, I can say that I am a writing swing again. Let's see if it lasts._**  
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><p><strong>Cyclical Storm<strong>

_April 30__th__, 999 A.S._

_Lycian Fields, Lycian League, Elibe_

Although he was the general of the army and its lord, Roy was amazed at the intricateness that his army possessed. When the young lord lead the charge from Pherae to Araphen, his formations were simple and militaristic in nature; with his limited knowledge and Marcus' instruction, Roy had a simple arrangement with the vanguard taking the center and his wings behind him, culminating in an arrow-like formation. Assured by Marcus that this was a sturdy formation for the march, Roy simply agreed and let the venerable general take the lead in matters of camp.

As soon as Araphen was recaptured, however, Mark summoned a council with the commanders of both Roy's force and the remnants of the Lycian force. After Roy was unanimously decided to become the grand leader of the Lycian army, the boy made Mark his head advisor and deferred to his judgment regarding camp and logistics. Almost immediately, Mark created a hierarchy of sorts within the Lycian army; Marcus, Dieck, Paris, Sain, and Rickard – an Ostian captain – were named as squad leaders and they in turn possessed their own sub-commanders. In this manner, Mark created a rank and file sort of leadership: if any of the squad commanders were to perish in battle, one of their sub-commanders would immediately fill their place and their responsibilities, thus ensuring that no confusion arose amongst the men. Even Roy had his own replacement: in the unlikely event that Lord Roy perished to the enemy, Sir Paris would rise to his place and, if Paris were to fall, Sir Marcus.

After announcing this new order to the infantry, Mark moved with startling speed to consolidate the hodgepodge group of Lycians. Ignoring political differences between the soldiers, Mark morphed the men into a single unified group and moved it away from an army compromised of many different nations. Although he left the Pheraen and Ostian forces alone, the tactician meshed the remaining Lycian forces into two separate groups. Naming Sain the commander of the first force, it was comprised of the remnants of the Caelin, Ryerde, and Santaruz forces; forming the opposite wing of the Lycian remnant was the remaining forces of Thria, Worde, Kathelet, Tuscany, and Araphen which were led by Sir Paris. By merging the remaining forces, Mark helped to foster a sense of closeness between the different regions. Now, they were not Araphen, Tuscan, or Ryerde forces: they were now Lycian forces and every soldier seemed to understand that to the man.

After sending the injured soldiers to Kathelet under the direction of Sir Stephen, Mark initiated the march towards Ostia. After much contemplation, it was agreed upon that Ostia must be made aware of Araphen's fall – as well as being protected from Narshen's encroaching force. Choosing a path that led through Tuscany, Laus, and Thria, Mark believed that taking the Lycian highroad would lead to the quickest journey: although it was possible to cut through the Laus Mountains, it would significantly slow their progress.

As soon as Mark charted their course, the veteran knights seemingly issued a conjoined sigh at the mention of Laus. Sending Roy into confusion, he had pondered the reaction ever since the war council ended. Astride his white horse, Roy rode up beside Marcus who was taking point for the army. "Marcus."

"Oh," the aged knight turned in his saddle before knocking a fist against his chest, "Master Roy. How are you, my lord?"

Roy waved his hand in a small manner, "I feel fine Marcus. Tired but so is everyone – especially those from the Araphen garrison."

"Perhaps my lord would wish to rest a bit? Merlinus' wagon is always available if you wish to rest, Master Roy."

"Marcus," the young lord laughed, "I'm fine, truly. I was honestly hoping if I could inquire you about something?"

The general smiled wryly, "of course Master Roy. Any way this old knight is still of use to you is of favor to me."

Roy ignored the last part of his statement: Marcus was always saying such silly things. "In the council, when Mark stated that we would be journeying through Laus," he looked towards the tactician, who was riding on the back of Merlinus' personal wagon, "you and Sir Sain both reacted with distaste. Why is that?"

Marcus was silent for a few moments. "Because Laus is a treacherous land, sire. Bandits and villains run rampant throughout it."

"Marcus."

The knight wrestled with his thoughts for a moment before letting out a soundless sigh. "In the Campaign of Fire, right at the very start, Laus was our enemy. When Lord Eliwood was traveling west, he was forced to pass through Laus; all considered it to be safe for Marquis Erik was an old classmate of Lord Hector's and Lord Eliwood's. But ultimately, he led us in and ambushed us."

"Why would Marquis Erik ever do such a thing?"

Marcus tugged on his beard. "Because Marquis Erik was led astray by his father, who was in dealings with the Black Fang. Naturally, although it has been twenty years, your father or Lord Hector did not trust him. He has always expressed interest in increasing Laus' power…that's why Sir Mark wishes to go through Laus. If we must deal with Erik then we will."

Roy looked up at this, astounded. "Marcus! You're saying that we may attack Laus!?"

"Yes," the veteran nodded, "if Erik gives us a reason to." Seeing Roy's shock, the knight continued on quickly so as to cut Roy off. "Understand, Master Roy, that the League is dead. Lord Hector has gone to Elimine's gates alongside Marquis Arlon. The other marquises have all perished as well. Only Marquis Pherae, Laus, and Thria remain – and Marquis Orun is very ill as you know. Including the only steward who has significant pull in the League, that leaves only Pherae, Laus, Thria, Ostia, and Caelin as the only functioning bodies left in Lycia."

The fiery-haired noble nodded then, seemingly understanding his servant's words. Although Lycia was a perfectly functioning body in its own right, it did rely on the individual states that were held within it. Although the Tenth Article of the Lycian Covenant granted Ostia the power to make decisions as the marquis saw fit, the Third Article managed to counter this by stating that at least two-thirds of the Lycian houses must be present at the time of an Ostian mandate. This was created in order to prevent Ostia from effectively becoming a dictatorial dynasty – though Ostia assuredly held the most power in court, it was still hemmed in by the other houses and the Lycian Covenant.

With only five houses present out of eleven with a voice in court - with Badon acting as an observer but without say – Lycia would not be able to operate legally. Although a state of emergency could be declared and allow Ostia to take hegemony over the other Lycian states, it would likely lead to the destruction of the Lycian Covenant and the League itself. The only way that decisions could possibly be made was to force any sons of any of the deceased marquises through the ascension and force them to sit at court; for any of the childless marquises, a steward would have to be appointed. Both of these processes could take a week, if not more – time that Lycia did not have.

"Is Marquis Erik a rational man, Marcus?"

"Quite so Master Roy. He plots and thinks ahead with his right hand man, a dastardly vermin known as Asticot. As much of a coward and conniving snake that Erik is, he is bright."

"Hm…" Roy sat in the saddle and pondered this before he noticed a shock of bright green hair riding towards him. "Lance is back."

Before them, a small group of horsemen trotted towards the lord, kicking up dust as they did so. The lead scout, a young man with startlingly green hair, turned in the saddle to his companions before waving them off; Roy watched as the rest of the scouting party dispersed into the ranks alongside the other Pheraen cavalry. He nodded as Lance dipped his head low, nearly bowing in the saddle before looking up.

"Master Roy. I have returned."

The blue armored lord nodded bemusedly at his knight who looked on with a confused look. "I can see thus Lance. How was your patrol?"

"Well, sire, no foes were encountered on our expedition and no forces were discovered. However," Lance looked towards the sky, "on our ride back, a large host of dragon riders passed over head towards the east towards Araphen. I fear they may double back and attack our force."

Roy nodded after this, bringing a finger to his chin. "Thank you Lance. I shall be sure to mention this to Mark. Is there anything else?"

The cavalier started to shake his head before snapping his fingers, eyes flying open. "Ah! Yes. There was one thing. We encountered a few individuals who wished to meet with you, milord. Velke," a young cavalier in dull blue armor looked up, "where did our visitors go?"

"They are on Master Merlinus' wagon. That's where I let them disembark."

"Master Roy, they are on Merli-"

Roy grinned as he stopped the uptight knight from continuing. "I see them Lance." Indeed he did. Sitting beside Mark were two children, one with green hair and one with blonde. Both were dusty from their ride and both seemed to possess heavy eyes from what they had seen.

Roy could only imagine what had happened.

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><p>Situated at an important crossroads in Lycia directly across from Caelin, Laus provided both save haven for merchants and their worst nightmare. Although the lush grasslands and the Lycian highroad provided trading caravans with an easier journey through the heartland of Lycia, it also provided them with little to no defense. With the Laus Mountains sitting towards the north, highwaymen often made their bases in the mountains; this allowed the brigands to raid unsuspecting caravans and make off with their claim before the knights of Caelin, Laus, or Tuscany could apprehend them.<p>

For this reason, Laus charged a nominal fee to caravans crossing into their territory. Sitting on a spot on the highroad, Laus cavaliers would charge a protection fee for the merchants. While armed caravans typically declined this service, many merchants took Marquis Laus up on his offer. Although the toll the Laus cavaliers charged was exuberant it was better than losing your head to an axe.

The tolls collected from this service filled Laus' coffers. Although the marquises of Laus were shrewd men who possessed poor moral direction, they were not greedy for personal riches. All of the tax and toll money collected went directly into Laus' coffers, where they were used to fund its army along with building fortifications. In particular, Castle Laus was often the prime beneficiary of any sort of civil construction by the Laus lords. Although this had held true through the ages, no marquis had come close to the renovations that Marquis Erik had. Crenellations dotted the top of the battlements, hiding the impressive ballistae that Erik had commissioned to be engineered as part of Castle Laus' defenses. A small moat, currently filled with rusty swords and spears, was currently covered by a thin layer of dirt and earth so as to deter any possibly invasions or would be thieves from the castles. A large drawbridge, held up by mighty steel chains that fed into the curtain wall, was the only possible entry a person had into Castle Laus. Arrow slits dotted the crenellations above the battlements, dug out from the thick stone the castle was made from; beside these thin notches were open-ended braziers where Laus' archers could set their arrows alight. Though the braziers contained no flame at present, they could be doused in oil and flame within a moment's notice by one of the many commanders within Castle Laus.

Ignoring his feudal urge for wealth and glory, Marquis Erik knew that to win his people, he would have to stride in a different direction than his father. Melting down the bronze and pewter statues Darin had had commissioned of himself, Erik used the metal from the statues to furnish the oldest church within Laus, the St. Michael Cathedral. Although Darin had cracked down upon the teachings of Elimine, due to his dealings with darkness, Erik had fostered close relations with the church and used them as a pawn to regain his people from their hatred of his father. Now solely a head for Erik's ambitions, the diocese within Laus often outwardly spoke of its support for the marquis, which in turn influenced the populace. It was a never ending circle fueled by greed, corruption, and money, though Erik was perfectly content with such a cycle as long as he remained at the top and was removed from the repercussions.

None the less, Erik always was sure to occasionally visit the villages situated around Laus, with the possible exclusion of the outlying ones on the border. He spoke of creating new bridges to the future through the strength of Laus and the guidance of the church, the connected paths that the two forces would take and of how it would quickly become a unified strength that the people of Laus would be in possession of! At least, that's what he made them to believe. True to his nature as a snake, the only words the marquis sprouted were words of deceit; completely ignoring his word, Marquis Laus viewed the church as nothing more than a tool to acquire his ambitions. As soon as his need for the institution died, it would be as his father's memory was: abandoned and forgotten.

The marquis himself currently stood at the front of his castle, overlooking his lands lazily. It had become a habit of his to watch his lands without any attendants or guards, to simply lose himself in the grass that stretched out before him. It was his own personal way of escaping the trials that accompanied the job of marquis: although Erik was loathe to say that he wasn't fond of the role, he would admit that it could be exceedingly stressful. When he could find the time to relax, he jumped at the opportunity; those opportunities were few and far between in the current times that it went without saying that the marquis was better off left undisturbed during those precious times.

It was for this reason that Erik nearly growled at the sound of a man exiting through the portal behind him. Resisting the urge to verbally assault the impudent soldier, Marquis Laus slowly turned and leveled an eye at the younger man, who was visibly cowed. "I trust this is important, soldier."

"O-of course Sire! I wished to inform you that a messenger has arrived!"

The noble waved his hand almost dismissively before his eye caught the seal on the parchment. Recognizing the brand as the official seal of House Pherae, Erik nearly snatched the document from the Paige's hand. Instructing the man to remain with him, Erik read the message over carefully.

_**Marquis Erik, Lord of Laus and Noble of Lycia,**_

_**If this message has safely reached Your Lordship then it is with great courtesy that I address thee. The Lycian Army, under the flag of Pherae and Ostia, wishes to obtain Your Lordship's cooperation in the deliverance of Lycia from the Bern invaders. The Supreme Commander of the Lycian Army, Lord Roy, the son of Marquis Eliwood, humbly reminds Your Lordship of his filial and feudal obligations to Lycia. By the power vested in Lord Roy upon the dying bequest of the late Lord Hector, Marquis Ostia and Lord of Lycia, the Lycian Army requests three score cavalry and one score spearmen to bolster its numbers. The Lycian Army shall be within Your Lordship's immediate domains upon the night of the second day of March, wherein his reply shall be graciously desired.**_

_**With Grace,**_

_**Grand Strategist and Advisor of the Lycian Army**_

_**Mark of Etruria**_

Erik sneered upon reading the words. How dare this Mark, most likely a commoner or of little peerage, address the Marquis of Laus in such a manner! The man nearly tore the parchment in half before he regained his composure somewhat; inhaling deeply, he dismissed his man before twiddling the hair on his upper lip. What an interesting predicament he had gotten himself into. On one hand, his chance to conquer Ostia seemed thin and out of his grasp; on the other, he could rectify Narshen's mistake and help to rise his stock in the eye of King Zephiel. The marquis grinned wolfishly as he crumpled the parchment in his hand, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder, walking through the portal back towards his castle to meet with Asticot: he had only a few days to ready himself!

As with all things in life, however, carelessness breeds trouble. As the opulent lord withdrew himself from the warm April night, a sudden burst of air kicked up. The breeze caught the discarded message and lifted it, depositing it right over the side of the battlement and to the ground below. If the air had not flowed when it did, the piece of parchment may have been forgotten about until a cleaning servant tended to the courtyard. However, as fate often made it seem, a man was coincidentally walking in the courtyard as it fell a few steps from him. Not attempting to disregard his curiosity, the soldier picked the parchment up before reading its contents. Realizing he had just stumbled upon something his eyes were not meant for, he folded it neatly before placing it in the confides of his red robes, his brown hair blowing gently in the wind.

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><p>Founded nearly a hundred ago but Etrurian immigrants, the <em>Iron Cauldron <em>had witnessed many changes in Ostia. At the time of the inn's founding, Ostia had been under the leadership of Marquis Andrew, a benevolent but horribly inept leader who relied far too much on popularity to be an effective leader. Though the feelings within Ostia were positive and fruitful, there was a certain fear that the mighty city would lose its prestigious place not only in Elibe but in Lycia as well. Though these fears were allayed by the intellectual prowess of Marquis Laomedon, grandfather of the late Lord Hector, the people of Ostia had never forgotten the fear that had encompassed their lives.

Now, much of that same fear was beginning to captivate the city. Although a multitude of factors accounted for the feeling that gripped the city, including the now-public knowledge of Bern's invasion, possibly the largest was the lack of the noble family. With Lord Hector absent at Araphen and Lady Lilina withdrawing in the castle, the Ostian populace became more concerned with each passing day. With General Leygance's repeated denial to make the lady available to her people, restlessness had seeded itself in Ostia.

The murmurs came from all across the city as even the upper class became antsy in the tenseness that was created. The lower and middle class were much more vocal in their unease, shifting from irritableness to outright hostility towards the regency of General Leygance. News of clashes between Leygance's mercenaries and the lower class quickly became common place as the general began to lose all control over the city. This lack of control was made even more apparent by the general's ineffective attempts to even provide the most basic of necessities to the people.

This inability to provide the people wasn't due to greed or ambition as much as it was pure poor decision making. Ostia, as the sole remaining stronghold in Lycia, was the safest place for any Lycian; this proved to create a never ending flow of refugees to the mighty city as many Lycians, both poor and rich, sought safety. Believing this to be a boon, General Leygance ordered city gates to Ostia to remain open, allowing the Lycians to flee within his walls. Although it was an admirable effort to protect his countrymen, Leygance severely underestimated the ramifications by such an action. Because of the burgeoning number of civilians within its walls, Ostia quickly found that it did not have the food supply to sustain such an enormous amount of people. By all estimates, the local granaries, bakers, and butchers were working far past their normal production yet nearly half of the Ostians were not being fed. Finally, at the insistence of his advisors, the regent began to ration out Ostia's food stocks, somewhat stemming the direness of the matter.

All of this caused the native Ostians to dislike Leygance even further as their city suddenly became overpopulated and they were neglected their usual freedom regarding food and water. Though Ostians understood, to a man, that sacrifices needed to be made during war, they expected those to come when they were actually _under _attack, not under the occupation of an overly ambitious general and his pack of sellswords!

Though they initially started off as a motley crew of honorable mercenaries and loyal knights, the resistance movement led by Barth suddenly gained steam. As it became public knowledge that Barth's men were located within the _Iron Cauldron _and all the surrounding areas, more and more civilians started to assist the knights. They quickly became informants, tracking the movements of mercenaries as well as informing the resistance the different happenings in the different districts. Within but a few days' time, Barth's resistance movement had captivated the entire city. Though many would not claim support for it, most inwardly supported the Ostian commander, believing him to have Ostia's best interests at heart.

In truth, the only public act that Barth had done was make a call for the appearance of Lady Lilina, demanding that she speak to the people and affirm her safety. Although Leygance had ignored his demand, the Ostian knight had caused a spiritual shift of support towards his direction as it strengthened with each passing hour. When Barth had made this call the previous night, the Ostians had let out a roar of approval; to say that the knight had the people's support would be stating the obvious.

Though Barth had only made this single act public, he acted quickly and swiftly behind the scenes. With the return of the respected Matthew, the single most informed man in all of Elibe, Barth suddenly found himself with a plethora of options. With newfound knowledge of Leygance's betrayal of Sir Bors, Lady Lilina, and Lord Hector, Barth began to take action against his opponent. Matthew continued his purge of the mercenaries, using the cover of night to murder more of the dishonorable curs; under the direction of Sir Zealot, the mercenary knights began fighting in the arena to earn money for their cause, as well as injure the many enemy mercenaries who frequented the location. Using the mercenaries loyal to their cause that were not from Ilia, Barth instructed these mercenaries, under the command of Oujay, to steal food from the castle. Although Leygance refused entrance to the Ostian knights and Ilian mercenaries, he allowed the inner gatehouse to be opened to his mercenaries; this nondiscriminatory nature allowed the bluenette and his men to steal as much food as they could get their hands on, using the stolen food to feed the soldiers as well as the people.

Slowly, but surely, Barth was drawing a noose around Leygance. By turning the people against him, murdering his mercenaries to whittle down his numbers, and feeding his own force, the Ostian commander was slowly winning the battle against Leygance. It was truly the only way he could win. Although his numbers were only a little less than the general's, many of his own knights were inexperienced in the field. Owing to his nature as Ostia's best taskmaster, many inexperienced and youthful knights were placed in Barth's command to be trained, while the greater knights were placed under Generals Oswin and Leygance. If the battle was to turn violent and a full-scale confrontation was forced between the two Ostian forces, Barth held no delusions that he could easily defeat the current regent. Although he was never fond of methods that did not reflect his knightly nature, the logic behind the current tactical approach far outweighed any thoughts Barth had of directly challenging Leygance.

'_Though I could certainly take him in single combat," _the large man thought as he entered a secluded room on the second floor. He did not wait long as he was joined shortly thereafter by his accomplices.

His white armor contrasting greatly to his darkened hair, Zealot sat himself in one of the wooden chairs in the room; the two knights nodded at one another as Zealot's sub-commanders entered, both silent as they stood near the back wall. Wendy, her armor's odd color contrasting with the dull blues and browns of the room, entered after a few moments where she was followed immediately by Oujay. Awaiting the last and most important member of the group, the six warriors patiently waited as Ostia's Head of Intelligence made himself available. Silence gripped all seven warriors as they tersely began their meeting, using hushed tones. Although Zealot had stationed mercenaries in every room of the inn, as well as sitting one man on the outside near the door, the seven were careful as to not leak their plans to listening ears.

"What're we going to plan? Are we simply going to continue on with our current plans?"

Barth looked at Noah, shrugging a single broad shoulder. "Perhaps. It seems to be working. I see no reason to change our strategy."

"I'm not sure how much longer my men and I can keep our ruse, Sir Barth," Oujay sprouted from the side. "Leygance's mercenaries are beginning to suspect us, particularly due to the fact that they never see us besides those few crucial moments."

"That is troubling." Zealot tapped his chin, "would it be possible to sneak into the granaries?"

"Absolutely but it wouldn't help."

Zealot looked at Wendy curiously before Barth explained. "Although the granaries are there and are visible, they often are empty. They are only there for surplus. No one truly knows where the real granaries are, save for Lord Hector's trusted few."

"Of which I am."

"Matthew," Zealot turned towards the Ostian spy, "you know where these granaries are?"

"Of course. I know everything about everything." Letting his younger self show through, the former thief grinned before reverting to his former stoicism. "They are underneath Ostia, in its catacombs. The coolness keeps the food from rotting. Well, allows it to rot at a slower pace. The passage is off in an odd corner in a stockroom that no one really ever uses."

"Odd," Barth gave a crooked smile, "I never knew."

"As far as I know, only Lord Hector, Lady Lilina, Lord Eliwood, General Oswin, and myself know. Oh, and I suppose you could count Serra."

Wendy frowned. "The Bishop of Ostia knows the secret location of the granaries?"

The spy chuckled, "why of course! Bishop Serra was once one of Lord Hector's closest traveling companions! Well…not necessarily by choice…" The man shook his head, "but let's return to the subject at hand. Yes, I know where the underground storages are. However…I cannot say that I will show you where they are. I am sworn to secrecy regarding their location. Lord Hector explicitly stated that I was to only reveal or access the granaries if Lord Hector had died in battle and Lady Lilina were indisposed, Lord Eliwood were to wish access, or if I were ordered by Lady Lilina. I am sorry sirs. Surely you understand."

Barth nodded, understanding why the spy was not offering his service in that regard. Barth knew that his lord and Matthew shared a close bond, with Matthew being one of his closest advisors. Similar to how knights swore a vow of service to their lord and kingdom, Barth knew that Matthew had sworn a vow towards the royal family and _only _the royal family. As such, only Lord Hector and Lady Lilina had the complete obedience of the veteran and Matthew had made that clear.

"I heard news today that Leygance would be making a speech tomorrow," Zealot looked at Matthew, "do you know anything about that?"

"Aye. And I even know what the traitor will say, too." At their eager eyes, he continued, "as far as I know, and I happen to know a lot nowadays, General Leygance is planning on announcing his ascendency as Lord Overseer."

"What!?" Barth started forward, "that is outright treason!"

"Apparently," the spy continued unabated, "he is bringing Lady Lilina with him so she can 'grant him blessings' or whatever nonsense he has cooked up."

"Then we must rescue milady!" Wendy slapped his hand on the wall, "she must be retrieved from his clutches!"

"Easy, Wendy," Barth placed a hand on her shoulder, "no reason to be so hasty. General Leygance would never dare to harm Lady Lilina. He would lose any power he had."

"It would be best if we observed Leygance's speech." Zealot stood, pushing the chair gently back towards the table, "it might prove to be beneficial."

"Agreed." Barth nodded for a moment before falling silent. They began to file out of the room, with nothing truly accomplished. The news that Leygance was going to grant himself a lordship was startling indeed. As they passed into the hall, Barth let his thoughts become vocalized. "I cannot wait until Lord Hector returns and strings that traitor from the gatehouse."

"I am sorry to say that won't be happening."

The resistance leaders looked up as a purple haired man approached, a noticeable limp in his step. His face, hair, and cloak were coated in dust and dirt, his eyes shining dully. He wore a forlorn look on his face; though the man constantly looked dejected, the emotion was amplified at present.

"Who are you?" Zealot looked cautiously at the man as Noah and Treck stepped forward before Barth raised his hand.

"This is Astol. He's an Ostian spy."

As the three Ilian men nodded, Matthew continued, his face suddenly became darker. "And the man I sent to Araphen. Tell me Astol, what news from the front?"

The spy sighed before running a hand through his dirty hair. "Lord Hector won't be trying Leygance with treason. He'll never punish the general."

"What do you mean?" Wendy pressed the man for more. "Why wouldn't Lord Hector punish General Leygance?"

"Because Lord Hector is dead. Araphen was lost to Bern."

* * *

><p>Edward poked at the fire with his sword, making sure that the sparks did not land on the dry grass around them. The army had ceased the march for the night, having paused a day's ride from Laus. After Master Mark had issued the command to cease the march, he immediately organized a war camp. Although Edward had borne witness to many a camp in his short time as a knight, none were quite like the one the strategist had ordered. While most camps were arranged in a very simplistic manner, Mark's was not. Complex yet not confusing, Mark used logic in the way he organized the Lycian camp. Situated in a circle, Mark had ordered all the infantrymen and dismounted horsemen to make their tents along the outer ring. Within the next ring were the archers, where they could fight whilst being protected by the infantrymen. Within the center, alongside the mess tent, supply wagons, and stables, were the commanders; although Mark never attempted to place one life above another, even he recognized the importance of army commanders. By situating them within the center of camp, Mark had hoped that they would be protected the by the rings of men around them.<p>

Due to the fact that he was a dismounted horseman, Edward found his tent to be located on an inner rung of the foot soldiers. Although all horsemen were expected to be able to adequately fight on foot, their true use was in their ability to fight from horseback. For this reason, all horsemen were relegated to the innermost ring of the infantry, where it could be possible for them to acquire their steeds. Edward didn't mind his placement however for he felt severely less on edge than if he were the first layer of defense. He'd take this position any time if it meant he got to escape with his life.

After the reorganization of the army, Edward was surprised to learn of his appointment as one of his father's sub-commanders, along with a captain from Santaruz named Canaan. The choice surprised him immensely and he wasn't sure what to think of the matter. Although his father had always been sure of his abilities, he had never had any experience with leading an army or even a company of knights. Now that he had been entrusted with such an important position, he wasn't sure what to do. Although if his father, by Elimine's grace, were to be removed from his position by volunteer or by force, he was sure that Canaan would step to the command. Despite this, he felt as if he had the weight of an entire army on his back.

The Caelin knights, the few that remained, noticed this and were supportive of him. Recognizing that the young man had had his new role thrust upon him, they offered their support. With the loss of Sub-Commander Vossler, one of Caelin's most experienced knights, as well as Sir Thomas, a well respected young knight, Caelin's venerable knights found themselves in a fragile position. Over half of their knights had died at Araphen yet Caelin stood strong together; their inner strength was what separated them from other knights. This strength was well received as Mark often quoted the bravery and prowess of the Caelin knights, even comparing them to vaunted hosts such as the Bern wyvern riders, Etrurian mages, Ostian knights, and Pheraen cavalry. Though their legacy could not hold a candle to any of these names, their spirit and courage were not surpassed by any and were only equaled.

Although Caelin was receiving its fair share of recognition, the other Lycian states were as well. Gradually, fostered through Mark's insistence, the Lycian states were started to be swept under the rug as a common identity was founded. Although they still held allegiance to their separate dukedoms, the soldiers began to refer to themselves as Lycians and not as Araphenians, Pheraeans, or Tuscans. A brotherhood and an understanding was achieved between the different dukedoms, something that would never have been possible had the marquises been present. Although two lords of noble birth were present, they were not bullheaded like the generations before them. Master Paris, raised as a warrior and often seeing his father slandered for being a 'bastard son', cared not for the inter-Lycian rivalries; Master Roy, although young, was the definition of welcoming, enjoying the cooperation between the men. Even though the Battle of Araphen had ended but a few days prior, the men who garrisoned Araphen doubled their efforts as soon as they regained their strength. Often practicing well into the night, these were the men who had lost the mighty Lord Hector as well as Marquis Arlon: to these men, nothing else mattered besides claiming victory from the jaws of defeat.

To Edward, however, it was about vengeance. Nothing more, nothing less. His sworn brother had been cut down by Bern, by the king nonetheless. He would settle for nothing less than every Bern head from Ostia to Bern. But he knew his role and he knew the only way he was to exact his vengeance was to wait and to play his role in the army.

"Hey," he didn't need to look up to know who it was, "what're you doing?"

The young man shrugged, moving over on the log he was camped on. Eris sat beside him and smiled softly. Ever since the fall of Araphen, the two knights leaned on the other for support, quickly becoming even closer friends. Similar to how Thomas had been Edward's best friend, Sub-Commander Vossler had been Eris'. Though neither would admit to their grief, both knew the other was suffering immensely.

"Not talkative huh? Guess I'll have to talk for the both of us…"

"Please don't," he shot a sarcastic look at her, "I can't stand annoying women. Always whining and needing protecting…I prefer a lady who isn't nearly so…vulnerable."

"The greatest woman I've ever met refused to be protected...or even helped for that matter."

The two younger knights turned as a figure emerged from the stillness of the night. Although he had never seen him up close, Edward instantly recognized the face of the army's strategist. His hood lowered, the Famed Genius sat on the log opposite from the two.

"Master Mark, it-"

The man chuckled as he waved dismissively at Eris, "I am no master. Nor am I a lord or a sir. Please, just Mark."

"Well then," Eris stumbled slightly before smiling, "it is an honor to make your acquaintance Mas-, er, Mark."

"It is always an honor to meet a Caelin knight." The tactician smiled once more, "Caelin knights have always been some of the greatest knights in all of Elibe. Sure, you all may not have the distinction like Ostia or Pherae, but never have I met a cadre of men and women so brave."

Edward looked at the older man, "it seems as if you have experience with the Caelin knights."

"I do. I travelled extensively with the Caelin knights many years ago." The fire warped the image of the man, something that Edward found to be very fitting. "Your father was amongst those knights at the time, Edward."

The young knight wondered how the tactician knew his name but put it in the back of his mind. "You traveled with my father?"

"Aye," the strategist took out a small knife, "alongside Kent, Wil, Florina, Wallace, and Lyn."

"Lady Lyndis? She was the heiress to Caelin…Marquis Hausen's granddaughter." Eris pursed her lips as she recalled her studies. "She is still very much loved in the castle."

Mark reached down and grabbed a thicker piece of wood, his knife setting into it. "I can imagine so. Lyn had this mysterious effect on people, always able to be well liked. Even people she wasn't fond of liked her. Lady Lyndis…such a beautiful life cut short."

"There have been…many beautiful lives cut short."

The strategist jerked upward at this, his knife pausing in the wood. No words were spoken as the fire crackled between the three, casting a shadow over Mark's eyes. For a moment, Edward had thought the tactician didn't hear him before the man smiled softly. "Yes…yes, that is true." He went back to whittling, the dulled knife scraping against the grains in the wood. He stayed silent for a moment before speaking once more, barely more than a whisper. "I have condemned more men to death than possibly any single man alive. I've been at the helm of warring sons, of nomadic tribes, mercenary companies, bandit tribes, personal armies, national armies…I once was involved in the largest battle in recent history when Etruria and Bern went to war. Over one thousand men died that day and I played both sides like a fiddle against one another, earning my keep from both…it was only until years later through an old friend that I found out they were fighting over _me_. How ironic."

"I call myself a strategist yet I am nothing more than a butcher whose weapon is his mind and not his axe. And yet, history has a way of warping perceptions. History speaks of the 'Famed Genius' as the greatest tactical mind of his time, his accomplishments amongst the greatest in history. I have never lost a single battle in my lifetime. I have emerged, undefeated…yet, to me that means nothing." He continued to whittle as the flames died slightly. Edward had to squint to see him through the darkness but his face was looking solely at his wood. "You see, there is only one campaign in which I have not sent someone to their deaths. That journey with your father, Edward, and Lady Lyndis and Lords Hector and Eliwood…it was the first time I had truly taken command of a situation. I was a novice, armed only with knowledge I had gleaned from a master tactician. Yet, despite all of that, I did not lose a single battle nor did I lose a single soul. I saw in their eyes, their complete trust in me. They would march to their deaths at my command and would not think twice."

"That was the last time I commanded such trust. And, as I look into your eyes, and yours Eris, and Lord Roy's and Alan, Lance, Sain, Marcus, Dieck…I realize I have that trust placed in me once more. With a campaign this large, I cannot help but install some responsibility upon others, but…it falls to me to make the decisions. And who is to say that I won't make my first mistake? That I won't lose my first battle? The odds are stacked so immensely against this army…yet, I see hope."

"Yet in some, I see vengeance. I see anger… They are very powerful motivators. Easy to lose control of, but easy to use in your favor…" The tactician stood then, sheathing his knife by his hip. "Do not worry, young Edward, we will have our revenge. We will have Zephiel's head…that, I can promise." The man walked past the two, dropping the wood piece into the fire as he left the small gathering.

Ignoring Eris as she stared off towards Mark's retreating form, Edward couldn't help but stare at the wood carving. Yellow flames licking at the dark wood, the carving was an image that Edward vaguely recognized. It was a crude carving of an axe, oddly shaped yet seemingly very large in comparison to its handle. The axe looked similar to a description that his father had once given of Lord Hector's axe when they had campaigned together. It looked as if it were a weapon that the Lord of Ostia would use; the backend of the axe was that of a normal axe head while the front was elegant and curved. It possessed a power, however, even in a simple wood carving. Edward wasn't sure why, but he felt as if the axe represented something.

Edward then wondered why Mark had said 'we'.

* * *

><p><em>May 1<em>_st__, 999 A.S._

Narshen's eyes drooped as his wyvern began to slow itself in midair, its mighty wings beating slower as they lowered themselves. He had been flying constantly, only stopping when many of his men had complained of tiredness; although he had taunted them at the time, Narshen was immensely grateful they had requested the downtime. He was already immensely tired from all the flying they had previously done and the return trip was just as rough. All Narshen wanted to do was relax in the marquis' quarters at Castle Araphen and retire for the rest of the evening and well into the morning.

Imagine his outrage when he witnessed a Pheraen flag flying over the castle.

The Dragon General circled Castle Araphen before recognizing the banner of Bern on the outskirts of Araphen's territory. Swearing a blue streak under his breath as he honed in on the camp, Narshen did his best to rein in his anger as he landed, his vaunted wyvern corps landing behind him. Handing the reins of his wyvern to a waiting page, Narshen whipped off his helmet and tossed it to the ground. "Where the hell is Slater!?"

The stable officer scurried up to Narshen, bowing lowly as he did so."General Narshen, I beg your forgiveness. We were not expecting you at this hour."

Narshen was about to respond when he heard a clattering of metal behind him. Turning on his heel, the contemptuous general watched as the same page paled; realizing the young teen had dropped his helmet after picking it up, the blonde haired knight nearly exploded in fury. "_You! _Paige! What the hell do you think you are doing!?"

"I-I-I w-w-w…"

"_Silence! _You are a piece of offal, you disgusting pathetic excuse for a man!" Narshen spun and stared at the officer behind him, who paled, "stable officer, ensure that this…soldier," he spat the word, "learns a lesson for his ineptitude! Two score lashes as well as cleaning my wyvern!"

"Of course General!" The stable officer snapped to attention and saluted before dragging the poor teen away, hollering for one of his aides to fetch his whip.

Narshen silently fumed for a few seconds before he dug his fingernails into his palms, his knuckles turning a pale white as he attempted to control his fury. Not only had they moved from Castle Araphen against his orders, Slater would not come forward to explain himself as to why it had happened! "_Why the hell is my army camped away from Castle Araphen!? And where the hell is Slater!?"_

"I know not where Slater is," Narshen's eyes widened as the voice drifted from behind, "but I do know why your army is not located with Araphen, Narshen."

The wyvern lord turned slowly, almost wishing the voice had belonged to an apparition. When he realized he was not dreaming, the young general nearly fainted. "M-Master Orer…how…why…it is unexpected…I did not think you would…"

The Prime Minister of Bern leveled a cool eye at the cowed general, "why is this a surprise Narshen?"

"B-because…you were overseeing Bern's domesticity…His Majesty was not in the capital…" The Dragon General stammered out his reply, cold dread grasping his heart. "It is just…unexpected that you would come to Lycia, Master Orer…"

The man simply looked at Narshen before tapping a thin finger to his chin, his cold gray eyes never leaving Narshen's. Narshen felt as if the temperature around him dropped by ten degrees as Orer chuckled. "Once again, why is this a surprise, General? I daresay, you…need the help."

Narshen nervously rubbed the back of his head, "I do not understand what you mean, Master Orer."

"Of course you do _not_," the man spat at Narshen's feet, "I have defended your actiosn time and again for I saw some semblance of skill within that arrogant boastful damned head of yours. When you spectacularly failed in the campaign to take Castle Edessa, it was _I _who pulled the strings to keep you as Dragon General instead of Gale, just as it was _I _who recommended you to be up to the task as being the vanguard for the invasion of Lycia!" The man paused and inhaled, "yet all you have done is completely _fuck up _all the progress we have made! At this point in your career, I cannot tell if you are merely incompetent, overly confidant, or flat out mentally ill!"

"I…I…"

"Cease your pathetic stammering! As one of the three commanding officers present during the Battle of Araphen, you knew that Pherae was not present during the battle, alongside the fact that Lycia was not fielding its highest capacity for battle! Yet, as the imbecile you are, delved off and trounced around Lycia, filling your pockets with silver and bending over cheap village prostitutes!" Orer steeled his eyes even more, causing Narshen to feel fear for one of the first times in his life, "furthermore, not only did you completely neglect any sort of logical passage through Lycia, you completely gave up the stronghold that over _six hundred of your countrymen died for._ What do you have to say for yourself, Narshen, O Mighty Dragon General!?"

"I…Er…" Narhen stumbled over the words before swallowing, "how did the castle fall to Lycian remnants?"

Orer looked at Narshen, his anger beginning to subside slightly, "do you honestly think that a measly force of fifty men is enough to stand against the Order of the Hawk? Pherae is in possession of the greatest cavalry force in all of Elibe, and you earnestly think fifty rank and file soldiers can stop them?" Orer sighed, rubbing his temples, "you are lucky I found out when I did. Had Lycia the prudence to garrison this castle, you would have been doomed Narshen. Cut off from your convoys and trapped within hostile territory, you would have been decimated to a man."

Narshen looked at the prime minister in shock, completely aware of what he was now saying. He had been incredibly shortsighted, neglecting the campaign for a short term gain. It was lucky that Orer had saved him this folly indeed. "I…what does the king think of this matter?"

"I have hidden your…blunder from His Majesty. I merely let King Zephiel know that I was traveling to Araphen to oversee the supply situation. I will not take charge of this conquest Narshen," Orer sniffed, "but I will advise you."

"Thank you, Master Orer."

"Be careful Narshen," the old man looked at his impetuous general, "the Lycian Army is more dangerous than ever."

Narshen started at this, "what do you mean? Hector of Ostia is dead and buried."

Orer nodded as he recalled the intricate grave in the ruined courtyard of Castle Araphen. He had been sure to visit the resting site of the legendary general. "They are led by a fiery youth, Roy of Pherae. He in himself is inexperienced due to his age; however, he has powerful allies that are fighting alongside him. The Green Lance, the elite freelance mercenary, and Sir Marcus are proud to call him general, in addition to various commanders who survived Araphen."

Narshen sneered at this, "we have multitudes of great warriors and battlefield commanders as well, Master Orer! Surely w-"

"Of course we can defeat one man, you fool. However, they have one thing that we cannot hope to best, only to equal."

"What do you mean, Prime Minister?" Orer's eyes flashed, his steel gray pupils instantly locking Narshen's in with their intensity.

"They have the Famed Genius guiding their hand."

* * *

><p><em>Another end to another piece in my story. I have no idea how I feel about this one. I'll let you all decide. Read and review, as always.<em>


	7. Fire in the Sky

**Fire in the Sky**

_May 1__st__, 999 A.S._

_Castle Caelin, Lycian League, Elibe_

Kent waited on his horse apprehensively, his hands tightening over the reins as he nervously swallowed. The familiar weight of a silver sword was at his hip, though he no longer carried a lance on the side of his horse's saddle; behind him stood thirty of Caelin's last knights, their faces grim as the stared straight ahead. Dame Fiora, astride her beautiful pegasus, sat beside her husband, a silver lance in her hand. All of the Caelin knights knew that there was no retreat, that they would all die to a man. However, as knights, they had a duty to defend their land and their people from all who would impose their will on them. Keeping the handful of remaining knights within the castle, Steward Kent had led his small retinue of knights out towards the plains north of the River Laus.

A messenger had reported that a large army of knights had been spotted north of Castle Caelin, likely en route to Ostia. Although the messenger had not made a distinction as to the allegiance of the army, Kent decided to field his men nonetheless. Although Fiora easily could have flown over to discern if the army was Lycian or Bern, the steward did not wish to place his wife in any unnecessary danger and test their luck against any archers. They therefore waited for the army at an essential crossroads where the road branched off towards Caelin or continued on the Lycian Highroad.

Kent had lost his ability to do battle long ago when he had taken an arrow to the leg for his liege lady. Though the man had lost most of the use of his leg, he had not taken it personally or had been bitter over the injury; he had been honored to have been wounded in battle in service for Lady Lyndis. All knights knew that there was a good chance they would be gravely injured in their service – yet all swore vows to their lord and took them in stride. In fact, Kent believed his injury was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him – well, with the exception of becoming a knight. Because of his injuries, many of the companions from the Campaign of Fire had visited him, bestowing their wishes on him. Dame Fiora had been one of those companions, journeying all the way from Ilia after word had arrived from her sister; though Kent had been immensely grateful, Fiora had ultimately decided to remain in Caelin to assist the dutiful knight in his daily tasks. The time they spent together had revealed romance had fallen between the two and, in time, they were wed. Although she loved the Caelin knight deeply, she had been worried as to abandoning her sisters; after news came out that Lord Hector would be married to Florina and that Farina was often in Badon alongside Dart, the eldest sister remained in Caelin.

"The army draws closer Kent," Fiora's soft voice carried over to his ears, "what are your orders?"

"We sit and we wait. There isn't much we can do." The Steward of Caelin put a reassuring hand on his wife's shoulder, "do not worry. I will make sure you come out of this, Fiora."

"No," the teal haired knight looked sternly over at the knight, "I will not watch another one of my men leave me behind."

The Crimson Shield frowned, "Thomas needs family to come home to."

"All the more reason his father should leave the field…" Fiora let the issue go, however, and resolved herself to make sure that if they field took for the worse, she would take flight with Kent alongside her. "Kent, look."

"An outrider…" The Caelin knight frowned, "I will meet him."

"Nay!" The booming voice from Kent's right nearly caused the man to fall from his horse, "I will go Kent! You remain here with your fair lady and your men."

"Lord Wallace…" Kent shook his head as a small smile escaped – how had he forgotten the former Knight Commander was present, he would never know. "Very well. I am sure you would be more able to defend yourself than I."

"This old bulldog still has a few tricks up his sleeve! I will be back, hopefully without my lance being used!" The giant of a man started off, his heavy armor clanking as he did so. Though many armor knights were slow, their steps shortened by the mass of armor they wore, the same could not be said of Wallace; having been used to the heavy armor for over forty years, the seasoned veteran moved nearly as fast in his armor as he did without it. Within a few minutes, he had made himself down the road and behind a small rise in the land, which made his image lost to the rest of the army.

The minutes ticked by slowly, though they felt like hours to Kent. He had never truly been nervous before, yet he now was. He supposed it was due to the fact that he no longer possessed the skill that he once had; he wasn't afraid for his life but he was afraid of failing in his task to protect Caelin. Out of all the duties he held in the world, protecting Caelin only fell second to protecting his family and Lady Lyndis. It was why he had painfully lifted himself onto his horse and donned his distinctive battle armor once more. He was about to order a man to ride forward before the silver giant that was Wallace poked out from the hill.

"Kent," the man's voice had a habit of travelling across extremely large distances, "it is the Lycian Army!"

The voice carried back towards his men and Kent didn't have to turn around to know that his men were whispering excitedly to one another, armor clinking as they moved their heads. Kent, himself, was very much relieved as he raised a hand into the air. "Caelin knights, double pace to Lord Wallace's position!"

Kent nudged his horse into a canter, much to the horse's delight as it moved for the first time in half a candlemark. Behind him, the Caelin knights marched excitedly forward, nearly at a jogging pace. The small army closed in on Lord Wallace's position before Kent signaled to halt their advance. Standing at attention in the middle of the Lycian Highroad, the CAelin knights watched apprehensively as the dark shape on the horizon took the form of columns and groups. At the front of the army, the flag of the Lycian League became visible as Kent smiled warmly at the sight. Behind the Lycian flag, the flags of all the individual dukedoms were flown and Kent couldn't help but spot out the flag of Caelin; a silver boar's head was backed by the dark blues and blacks that the original Marquis Caelin had so favored. Kent noted with pride that the Caelin flags flew proudly beside the flags of Pherae and Ostia along with the flags of Araphen, Worde, Ryerde, Thria, Kathelet, and Tuscany.

As the army drew closer, Kent was able to squint and spot individual faces; at the head of the army was a shock of red hair and Kent believed it to be Marquis Eliwood. An elderly man strode beside him – which Kent knew would be Marcus – alongside three other men. The red haired man gestured to Marcus, who raised his hand and barked out an order; the army paused its march then as the five men leading the army began to ride out towards the small Caelin force. Gesturing for Wallace and Fiora to move forward with him, the three knights moved forty paces out as the Lycian commanders approached. Kent instantly recognized the faces of Sain and Paris, yet the third…

"Steward Kent!" Kent watched as the red haired man raised his hand in greeting. The veteran knight was shocked to see that it was Roy, son of Eliwood, who was the Lycian commander. "Well met!"

"Well met indeed, Lord Roy," Kent raised a fist to his chest and his nodded his head, "and well met to your companions."

"It has been too long Kent," Marcus nodded before grinning at the steward's two companions, "and you as well Dame Fiora. And you as well Sir Wallace."

"Gwahaha," Wallace laughed loudly, "Marcus, ye old wardog! It is a good thing the veteran knights are to instruct the rookies!"

"Lord Wallace," Sain grinned as he saluted his former general, "it is nice to see you once more!"

"And you as well, Sain! I trust you have done Caelin justice at Araphen?"

"Of course," Paris nodded beside Sain, "Sir Sain was a tremendous warrior at Araphen, one of the brightest stars on the field. Were it not for him, we would have been sorely pressed by Bern and their wyverns. Caelin alone held off the flying beasts."

"Bah," Wallace winked, "don't let it get to his head! They're just a bunch o' flyin' lizards!"

"Steward Kent," Roy looked once more to Kent, interrupting the friendly exchange, "what brings you and your men to the field?"

Kent smiled softly, chuckling softly, "forgive us if you believed us to be of Bern. We of Caelin were merely alerted to the presence of an army. We wished to investigate and, if necessary, deal with said army. Thankfully," he gestured to the five men, "you are all of Lycia."

"You did well Kent," the fifth and final man murmured, "I would have done the exact same thing."

The Crimson Shield blinked, the wrinkles on his face deepening for that short moment. "Forgive me, sir, I do not believe I had the honor of your name."

A deep chuckle came from under the man's hood as he lowered it, "one would think that, after barking at you all, you would recognize my voice. Maybe I should have yelled louder because you seem to have all forgotten about me."

To say Kent was shocked at Mark's appearance would've been an understatement. Yet, within his chest, the knight was not at all surprised; the man had a habit of appearing when his friends were in dire need of direction. "Mark. It is good to see you. Odd in that you are once again helping us."

A smile, "yes, but this time I threw myself in of my own accord, not because two wandering knights had the gall to force me in." A smile, however, told more than his words. "Fiora, Wallace, it is good to see you two as well. It has been too long."

"And you as well, Mark," Fiora smiled, "I feel much more safe knowing you are advising our armies."

Roy placed a hand on Mark, who looked over in surprise. The lordling smiled gratefully at his strategist, "Mark was instrumental in our recapture of Castle Araphen. I have much to learn from him."

This instantly turned Kent's attention away from catching up, "it is true then? That Araphen fell to Bern?"

"Sadly, yes," the Thrian prince responded, "we were initially hard pressed to defend the castle. The tide had been slightly in our favor before Marquis Emerus opened the gates to the enemy. Marquis Arlon, Sir Sain, and I rode to the defense of the back end of the castle whilst Lord Hector, General Oswin, and Captain Azelus held the front. Apparently," Paris' voice lowered, "dragons crashed through the gatehouse of the castle. Lord Hector and Sir Oswin dealt with the creatures swiftly but not before dealing many deaths to our army and wrecking the castle."

Sain continued as the newcomers' eyes instantly darkened, "the back end of the castle fared no better. Though we faced none of Zephiel's dragons, we were soundly outnumbered. Marquis Arlon perished in battle against Zephiel as we were forced from the field and into the citadel. Lord Hector dueled with King Zephiel before his strength left him and Zephiel murdered him. Much of the army was taken prisoner whilst Sir Paris and I led a rescue mission to free them. It is only with Elimine's grace that it happened to coincide with Pherae's attack."

"By the gods…" Kent suddenly felt much more lightheaded. Dragons had returned to Elibe once more? "What of Marquis Erik? I see not of Laus' accursed bull."

"Laus never appeared to Araphen. We are currently en route to Laus to inquire Marquis Erik as to why he did not provide his men in our struggle."

"And," Mark continued Roy's statement, "do battle with him if it is necessary."

Fiora nodded somberly at her former tactician. All of the companions from the campaign twenty years ago knew that Erik had likely betrayed Lycia or had intentionally withheld his force in order to capture all of the glory for Laus. "Lord Roy," the boy regarded the female knight, "what is your current strength?"

"I am sorry?" Mark turned to his inexperienced lord, sniffing as he patiently explained to the teen what Fiora meant. "Oh, I apologize. Roughly four hundred men."

"Three hundred and ninety two, to be exact. Thirty percent of which is cavalry, seventeen percent is heavy infantry, and ten percent are archers. Oh," the man smiled at Fiora, "and a single pegasus knight."

"It sounds as if you are hard pressed for men," Kent looked behind to his small force, "do you need my men?"

"No, we are f-"

Mark interrupted Roy, "how many archers can you spare, Kent?"

"I have a score remaining in Caelin."

"Ten will do then. Oh," Mark looked over at the steward, "may as well fork over Wallace too. He'll be a boon." The strategist looked at the silver general, who grinned ferociously, "and something tells me he wants to be on the field anyways."

"Of course. I will be sure to lend you my men." Kent knuckled his breastplate, "and if it would to do Mark, would you know how my men performed at Araphen?"

Sain nudged his horse forward, "I would be more than happy to relate the courageous Caelin knights, Kent. So you may…tell their families."

Mark looked over at Sain immediately, instantly realizing what the man was about to do. "Lord Roy," the boy looked over to him, "go with Paris and Marcus and instruct the army to rest. We'll rest for a candlemark." All it took was a look of pleading as the young man understood what Mark was asking.

With a nod, the red haired lord rode off with two of his commanders as Mark dismounted, standing beside Wallace as he did so. Sain had led Fiora and Kent away as he began to soberly describe the battle to them. Wallace looked over to Mark, "how bad was it Mark?"

The tactician sighed. "I wasn't at the battle. I ran into Pherae as I came too late to Araphen…from what I know, Hector and Oswin killed two dragons themselves, though Oswin gave his life in the process. Sain and Paris held the rear before Zephiel forced them from the field. Many Caelin knights died, from what I know, including…" The tactician didn't finish his words as he looked over at the three Caelin knights, awaiting the inevitable.

The wail that emitted from Fiora spoke volumes for Wallace as he watched the pegasus knight collapse against Kent, beating her fists against his breastplate. Sain watched in agony as his boon companion's face contorted, attempting to stem the tears that started to flow. Sain, himself, seemed as though he were to tear up as he shattered the lives of his blood brother and his wife, condemning them to broken hearts and a broken family. Wallace sadly noted that he had never seen Kent cry before as the steward sobbed, grief finally overcoming the Crimson Shield.

* * *

><p>Ostia, equaled by only Aquleia and Bern in its greatness, had long been the greatest city and dukedom in all of Lycia. Unequalled in its military might and political prowess, Ostia had been the dukedom to carve Lycia's future from its past; although it had largely been a figurehead of power in the times immediately following the War of Sons, it had quickly consolidated power more and more as a powerful singular state was deemed necessary. With time, Ostia united nearly all of Lycia's military might under it, though the individual dukedoms still held control of their own meager force. With the ability to summon all of Lycia's might in but a few days, however, Ostia ultimately had control over the rest of Lycia. With this realization, Ostia began seeking a rule of compromise and popularity, often making decisions that benefitted the common man and the middle class, as opposed to the nobility that ruled over them. Through this process, Ostia's popularity skyrocketed, even in other dukedoms; to say that the Ostian marquises were as popular as the state they ruled over, however, was a different story.<p>

Although Ostia had maintained hegemony and popularity for nearly six hundred years, the individual marquises that ruled over Ostia varied wildly. Some were of stout constitution and were shrewd leaders, others savvy politicians. Many Ostian marquises were some of the greatest leaders of their age, able to balance the ambitions of many powerful nobles against one another whilst still maintain order within the League. However, just as there were great marquises, there were inferior ones as well. When Lycia had nearly fallen into civil war in 643 A.S., it was due to the lack of prowess of Ostia's marquis; although his son, Arthur the Great, restored order and reformed the League Covenant, it put a special emphasis on the importance of Marquis Ostia for his ability to lead.

The most recent string of marquises, starting with Marquis Laomedon, possessed a certain uncanny ability in a variety of fields. For some marquises, like Laomedon and Uther, their prowess lay in the domestic and political sort, using their political knowledge and savvy to lead Lycia to greatness. Others like Hector excelled in the militaristic arts where they made Lycia a realm to be reckoned with. Whilst all of these recent Ostian marquises were impressive in what they did, not all of them were popular; the most notable unpopular marquis was the late Constantine, father of Uther and Hector. Marquis Constantine had once been an extremely popular marquis, using his economical acumen to stabilize the markets in Lycia following the Subjugation Wars and causing the rise of the middle class. However, word became known that he had sired a son other than his eldest with Lady Roseline; once knowledge of the bastard child had become known, Marquis Constantine was slandered as an adulterer and a liar. Though the marquis was able to rectify his image before his death, his illegitimate son remained. Orun posed a more significant problem to Uther and Hector than he ever did to Constantine; though Hector was the definitive heir to Ostia should Uther perish, the lack of any children between the two placed Orun in position as heir presumptive, which would be a catastrophe for the House of Ostia.

Uther, possessing an uncommon knack for foresight, renewed the ancient House of Thria. Tracing Lady Roseline's heritage back, the Ostian lady had been a distant descendant of Marquis Gerald, the founding marquis of Thria. Proclaiming Orun to be a 'Observing Marquis', Uther instituted that House Thria be renewed and granted a dukedom of its own. Although initially a marquis without any true power for the first five years, Orun eventually gained power after his observance period ended. Ruling with a fair and stern fist, and supporting his half-brother in all matters, Marquis Orun had become a welcome member with the Lycian League as a source of common sense and rationality. Though some marquises still considered Orun to be a bastard child undeserving of his title, many more accepted him as a leader.

Orun didn't serve for his contemporaries, he served for his people. When Orun had been appointed Marquis of Thria, the people of Thria proudly proclaimed them to be their leader and lord and had carried him on their shoulders to Castle Thria. When Orun's son, Paris, was born, the Thrian people sent gifts of all sorts to the castle where Orun foundly received them personally. The Thrian people loved their lord greatly and he, in turn, loved them; it was a symbiotic relationship in which both lord and lorded fed off the other in prosperity and happiness.

Such things made Wagner sick.

The longtime counselor and advisor to Marquis Thria, Wagner was Orun's most trusted confidante. Initially a travelling mage who had once been in service to a minor noble of Etruria, Wagner had won over Orun with his intelligence and deft economical mind; after five years of serving Orun before the marquis was granted his lordship, Wagner was promoted to steward upon Orun's ascension. Wagner had the complete trust of Orun and the lord considered the man to be his truest friend as he listened to nearly every piece of advice Wagner gave.

Master Paris was a bright individual by all means and had quickly ascertained that Wagner was a detriment to Thria. Recognizing the fact that Wagner was intentionally feeding Orun false information regarding the other Lycian lords, Paris had moved to have Wagner dismissed from his post. Wagner responded in turn by attempting to send the youth to Etruria, as well as convince Orun that Wagner was better suited as heir presumptive; Orun eventually called for an end to the attacks, heartbroken over the affair before falling ill. Events seemed to come to a relatively peaceful stalemate as both sides catered to the sick marquis before news came from Ostia, reminding Orun of his obligation as Marquis Thria.

Paris was sent in the ailing marquis' place, leaving Wagner as the sole beneficiary. Eventually forcing Orun to isolate himself to his bedchambers, the steward cut off all communication with the bedridden marquis, with Orun's only human contact coming from Wagner himself. Not content with the pace that Orun was slowing at, Wagner began to slip the marquis a concoction that slowly killed, ensuring that the façade of illness would be maintained.

Steward Wagner consolidated his power, bribing or hiring most of the castle guard as they quickly changed loyalties at the sight of gold. Quickly moving himself into power, Wagner had mercenaries act as a secret police force within the villages, arresting any who dared to malign his name. That initially stopped the whisperings amongst the villagers but the rumors flared once more when word came that Wagner commanded a strange archaic magic unlike the magic used by magicians or priests. As rumors circulated of Wagner's dark arts, the man began dealings with Erik of Laus as well as Narshen of Bern; though while each wished for dominion of Ostia, and with it Lycia, Wagner simply desired his own dukedom.

When word came from a Bern messenger that Araphen had fallen, Wagner set about his processes. With Paris dead and Orun losing his battle to illness, there were none that could impede Wagner's wish. The shaman upped the dosage of the poison, giddy as the marquis became confined to his bedchamber, lacking the strength to even more. Wagner would have been able to do the man in had it not been for a Sacaen nomad wandering upon the castle.

The nomad, a younger woman by the name of Sue, was revealed to be the granddaughter of the Kutolah Chieftan. When Wagner had accidentally slipped the information to Orun, Marquis Thria demanded to see the girl; as the sickly man took a liking to Sue, he talked with her more and more before it was revealed that Sue was the daughter of the late Lady Lyndis, the true Marquise of Caelin. Remembering that his half-brother had been close friends with the Lady Lyndis, Orun gave sanctuary to the nomad. The girl was not often far from Orun's grasp and, due to her distrust of conventional medicine, Wagner was disinclined by Orun to bring him his 'curing potion'; Orun's condition gradually improved as the poison left his system slowly, much to Wagner's dismay. Claiming that it was a mere break in the conditions, Wagner persisted until Orun was forced to concede to his friend and physician and asked the man to bring the medicine anew.

"Jons," Wagner looked over to the captain, "Lord Orun is still within his bedchamber alongside the mongrel girl, yes?"

Wagner's accomplice nodded, "aye Lord Wagner."

"Very well then," Wagner finished mixing the concoction before dipping his hands in a water bucket, "follow me."

The five men walked through the halls of Castle Thria, the only sound coming from their footsteps and the occasional sound of knocking metal. Eventually, the five men drew up on Lord Orun's chambers, wherein Wagner motioned for the four soldiers to station themselves outside of the room. Wagner entered the door quietly, a soft smile on his face as he bowed to his liege lord.

"Wagner…" Orun smiled weakly, "I trust it is time for my medicine?"

"Yes Lord Orun." Wagner pulled the bottle from his robes, the pale brown liquid fizzing slightly, "I made sure to up the dosage as you asked. Your Lordship must get better soon if he wishes to welcome Sir Paris."

Marquis Thria nodded as he took the potion from Wagner; with a grimace, the man coughed as he swallowed the contents of the bottle, letting the last drop pass through his lips before he placed the bottle in Wagner's waiting hands. Orun shuddered for a moment, "thank you Wagner…it pleases me to hear that you and my son have come to an agreement."

"Of course sire," Wagner smiled, "anything to appease you."

Orun nodded gratefully as he rubbed his aching throat, "Sue, did you ever hear what happened to your grandfather?"

The girl nodded as she looked at Wagner with a curious eye, "yes. Grandpa is currently attempting to assemble the Kutolah. He wished me to stay away, however…"

"Actually, Lady Sue," Orun looked to the nomad, "Wagner informed me that another Sacaen came through these parts a few days before you. He claimed he was looking for the granddaughter of the Silver Wolf."

'_Damnable man…why don't you shut up and die already…'_ Wagner nodded, "yes, Lord Orun speaks the truth. I believe he gave his name as Shin."

"Shin was here? Grandpa must've ordered him here…I should follow him."

"No," Orun shook his head, "I will not allow the daughter of my brother's friend to place herself in unnecessary danger…wait until I recover, Lady Sue. Iwill give you a retinue of a dozen knights so as to ensure your success."

Almost as if nature had chosen to defy Orun's words, the marquis was racked by an intense fit of coughing as blood splattered on his fist. With a grimace, the man wiped the redness off on a small towel by his bed before wheezing.

"Lord Orun," Wagner procured another vial from his robe, "please, perhaps it is best to take a second dosage today…"

As Orun reached forward to grab the bottle, Sue laid her hand gently on the weakened man's forearm to prevent him from taking the vial. "Forgive me Lord Orun but…" the nomad eyed the potion, "I'm not sure if that potion is making you better."

Wagner looked incredulously at the Sacaen, "why, of course it is! Were it not for this medicine, Lord Orun would possible be deceased!"

"Why is it then that Lord Orun improved when he was not taking your medicine, Master Wagner? Yet, when you convinced him to begin his treatments once more, his condition took a turn for the worst. Further," Sue wrinkled her nose at the brown liquid, "why is it that none besides yourself know of the ingredients in your medicine?"

"Why, it is so-"

The teen shook her head, cutting Wagner off mid-sentence, "if it is harmless, Master Wagner…then why don't you swallow some?"

Wagner eyed the girl, visibly swallowing. "The medicine…I am not sick…it could react negatively…"

"Not if you simply took a bit of it. Even though I am a 'heathen' to you Lycians, even I know of modern medicine enough to know what would and what wouldn't happen."

Wagner shook his head sadly, "it seems you have discovered me…"

Sue instinctively moved closer to Orun as the marquis looked over weakly to his advisor, confused by the man's words. "Wagner, what do you mean?"

"I mean she has seen my medicine for what it truly is…" Wagner took the small vial and tossed it to his right, watching as the glass shattered against the stone wall. The brown liquid dripped down the wall before collecting in a pool; after a few seconds, the pool begun to sizzle as the compound reacted violently with the air, releasing a foul odor into the air. "If only it had been Lord Orun, I could've been fine…you are too astute for your own good, Lady Sue."

"Wagner! What is the meaning of this!?"

The shaman glared towards his former master, venom sprouting in his dark eyes, "silence fool! For twenty five years I have toiled at your side, preventing your blundering self from running afoul the dukedom you had been granted! It is I who is deserving of your lands and it is I who shall take them!"

Orun's eyes widened at this, finally realizing Wagner's treachery. The marquis feebly raised himself from his bed to a sitting position, hand fumbling under his pillow for the small dagger that he carried. "When Paris returns, he wi-"

"Your troublesome offspring will never return to bother me again," Wagner drew closer to the pair as Sue stiffened, "Araphen has fallen to Bern, with Paris perishing alongside your 'dear' brother."

"Traitor!" Orun finally found the dagger as he tossed it to Sue, who instinctively seized it from the air. The girl pointed the small blade at the shaman, who stepped backwards in retreat. "You shall hang from the gallows, Wagner!"

"I'm afraid not, Marquis," Wagner backed up further, "men! To me!"

Wagner's guards outside the door burt into the room, their swords drawn. Although they were surprised to see Wagner's enemies were Orun and Sue, they pointed their blades at the two nonetheless. Wagner moved behind the four soldiers as Orun looked at the men, aghast at the betrayal of both his friend and his men.

"Lord Wagner," the guard captain looked to his new master, "what shall we do with these two?"

The robed man regarded the two as Sue dropped her weapon without a fight after a sign from Orun. "Throw the girl in the dungeons – I shall contact General Narshen about her." As the girl yelled in protest as she was pulled away from the room, the captain stood loyally by as he awaited orders regarding Lord Orun. "As for Orun…"

Wagner turned and left the room, his voice carrying off in a telling tone. The captain nodded as he closed the door behind Wagner as his subordinate stuffed a rag into the mouth of Marquis Thria. Raising his weapon to strike the deathblow, the captain faltered for a slight moment before the steel sword plunged forward into the marquis' throat. The aged man convulsed immediately, tears flowing down his face as he struggled weakly before the last of his strength finally left him. The man looked at the corpse as he wiped his blade off on the white sheets, staining them with his own lord's blood.

* * *

><p><em>May 2<em>_nd__, 999 A.S._

_A Short March From Castle Laus,_

_Throughout my extensive travels throughout Elibe, perhaps no single country or land held more treachery and ambitiousness in it than the fabled land of Laus. Not a day goes by where the House of Laus is not conspiring in some plot, whether it be political or economical. Rare are the days in which Laus' plans actually come to complete fruition and it was said amongst the elite thinkers of the past that Laus was full of plots yet lacked plans. _

_Nothing less true could be said of Erik, however. He has a shrewdness that his father lacked and inherited his father's ambition, if not greater. A devious mind fills him with illusions of grandeur as well as conquest. Although Erik would be wise to maintain his neutrality in such matters, I feel as though he has taken the side of Bern. If that is the case, I will see to it personally that Laus no longer proves to be a thorn in the side of progress. _

Mark snapped his journal shut as he tossed the weathered book into his knapsack, joining the four other meager possessions he owned. After obtaining the help of the vaunted Caelin knights, headed by the ageless Wallace, Mark had the army march double pace the rest of the afternoon. Only stopping once night had fallen around them, Mark had reflected long on the visage of his longtime friend breaking down in tears. The longtime advisor chalked the memory down to his mental tally of motivators, as he had with deaths of Lyndis and Hector.

As soon as the morning sun began to peak over the horizon, Mark stirred the camp, anxious to be in Laus as soon as he could. Marching throughout the better part of the morning, Mark was relieved when a Laus scout was spotted slightly before noon. After nearly two more candlemarks of marching, Mark stopped his army at a familiar place.

The land around the delta of the Laus River was moist and often muddy, due to the vast amount of water that exited to the Lycian Gulf. To the untrained eye, it would seem that the land around the river was a prime folly in terms of selection, with an army being nearly unable to quickly move in the poor ground conditions; to master tacticians, however, it was only a partial truth. While the west bank of the river was indeed a perilous position for any force to be in, the east bank was one of incredible natural defenses. With the south flank protected by the steep cliffs of the bay and the east often being the route in which armies advanced into Laus, the east bank provided more than adequate protection. With the only means of an assault coming along the three bridges across the Laus River, any attacking army would have been hard pressed to march east.

It was only with luck and coincidence that Mark had stumbled upon the location on his first expedition through Laus. Although matters had forced his ragtag army to sortie on the eastern bank, the perceptive man had returned to Laus years later and had observed the battlefield, curious as to how the battle had gone so smoothly for them. After making the observation of the land's barriers, the strategist had noted the information in his manuscript on ways to sack Castle Laus. Armed with the information, Mark ordered the army to halt camp on the eastern bank after debating the point with Sir Paris.

Shortly after the army had pitched their temporary camp, a messenger arrived from the castle. Informed that Marquis Erik was to ride out to meet the Lycian Army, Roy was determined to meet the Lycian lord, much to Mark's displeasure. Remembering how the last Pherean lord had fared when parleying with Erik, Mark nearly bellowed with disapproval at the young man. Roy's youth won the day, however, as Mark conceded on the grounds that two veteran knights accompany the lord.

The two chosen, Sain and Marcus, had dealt with the men of Laus before and were no strangers to their villainous ways. Armed to the teeth in preparation for any treachery from Erik, Sain and Marcus rode astride Roy's right and left flank respectively. As all three white horses cantered across the fertile Laus grasses, Erik and his bodyguards emerged into view. Hailing the Lycian commanders with a friendly wave, Erik showed a pleasant face towards the three.

"Master Roy, it is good to see you again," Erik smiled convincingly, "it has been many moons since I have seen you. You were but a lad then."

The fiery youth gave a genuine smile in reply, "forgive me Marquis, I do not remember meeting you due to my age. It is my understanding, however, that my father and you were once classmates. It is an honor to look upon a friend of his."

A glint shined in Erik's eye, "ah yes. Your father is a…great man, to be sure. I have always been very proud to have learned beside him." The Marquis of Laus waved his gloved hand in the air, grasping the reins of his sorrel horse in his left, "I imagine you are seeking my reply to your letter, Master Roy?"

"That would be correct, Lord Erik. I understand your plight, being so far from Araphen as it is, that you were not able to send men to the castle. However," Roy looked over at the man to Erik's left, eying his curved sword, "we are of the times which call for the utmost action. General Narshen, the vanguard force within Lycia, is marching upon Ostia at this exact moment. As per the Covenant, all of Lycia is to assist the homeland. We were hoping that you would be able to assist with this cause."

"Why, I am quite aware of the situation," Erik sneered, "I do not need a whelp from Pherae to remind me of my…_obligations._"

Roy's conscious stirred at this, quickly scanning the three men before him for any tensing of the muscles, "Marquis Erik, I do not mean you any offense by my statements."

Erik spat on the ground, "I do not want to see you grovel, boy. Instead," the marquis drew a silver sword from his hip, "I wish to see you buried under foot!"

The man swiped with his blade, expecting the deflection from one of the two knights; raised, however, to be a warrior, the heir of Pherae pulled forth his own blade and parried the blow. Striking forward with vigor, Roy wasn't surprised to watch his blade flutter to the side as Erik managed a deflection of his own. Watching as his two knights met blades with Erik's men, Roy dueled with the Marquis of Laus for a few bouts before striking a hit on the man's forearm. With a grimace, Erik called for his guards; behind the marquis, a score of knights appeared from a pair of abandoned homes that Roy had stupidly overlooked. The young knight moved to retreat as Erik pulled back in turn; the three Lycian commanders rode away as a javelin struck the ground beside them. The Pheraen lord was givena small sense of hope as a team of knights under Lance rode forward, acting as the rearguard as their general retreated behind the lines.

Riding towards Mark's half-raised tent, the youth dismounted as he looked to his advisor. "Mark, Marquis Erik-"

The tactician nodded, "I witnessed. You did well defending yourself, Master Roy."

"This isn't the time for appraisal Mark…" Roy finally sheathed his thin blade, "we need a battle plan."

"Aye," Mark unfurled an old map, with many x's and o's drawn across it, "the enemy will attempt to attack us at three points, which are the three bridges. If we wished to let them come to us, we would allow them to break their steeds on the wall of our shields behind these bridges. However…time is of the essence and manpower is key. In order to defeat our enemy, we must employ odder tactics than this."

Roy bent over the map alongside Mark, "what do you have in mind?"

"Laus' primary tactic has long been an overwhelming charge against foes. A force of cavalry act as the initial wave and tend to be followed by infantry to mop up the foe. Now, if we use the cavalry against them…"

* * *

><p>Erik retreated to his keep, standing guard before the gatehouse to take personal command of the battle. After exchanging blades with Roy, Erik had issued his second in command to summon the Laus Army. Getting the cut on his arm mended by Asticot, his personal advisor and priest, Erik donned his armor and hoisted his lance. Unlike twenty years ago, where he had acted as the point for the charging Laus cavalry, he would be directing from behind the lines.<p>

Under his direct orders, two score of heavy cavalry stampeded towards the Laus River. Equipped with the heaviest chainmail and weaponry that Laus had available, the men stormed unimpeded before the sight of the river reached them. Seemingly catching the enemy unawares, the cavalry captain issued an order to divide; half of the men would advance across the southern bridge while the other half would move along the northern one.

Along the northern flank, the knights bounded easily across the bridge, not listening as the bridge gave audible groans beneath their immense weight. When the last knight made it onto the bridge, the wooden structure gave way, having been weakened under Mark's orders. The Laus River immediately swept away the wooden planks, along with the horses. The knights themselves, weighed down by the bulky chainmail and weaponry attached to their hips, sank to the bottom of the river where their lungs collapsed due to the lack of oxygen. The handful of men who did manage to reach the east bank were met promptly by the blades of Dieck's men.

Those assaulting the southern bridge fared no better, as evidenced by the sight of fire along the wood. Coated in cooking oil from the mess tent, the bridge was set aflame as soon as the majority of the knights were on it. Although most of the knights perished as their heated armor roasted them from the inside, the few that had managed to miss the flames were soon ended by an inexperienced but extremely deadly fireball. The green haired mage who cast the spell looked aghast but, after a few friendly pats from the army's strategist, he managed to recover from the sight and mentally praise himself on his accomplishment.

"Mark," Sain walked up to the man, who ordered Lugh to fall in alongside Dieck's men, "the plan worked to perfection. However, if we cut off the middle bridge, that simply leaves us stranded on this side of the river. What shall we do next?" The veteran knight was joined shortly thereafter by Paris, Marcus, and Roy, who had all been summoned by the strategist.

"Give order for the Pheraen and Caelin cavalry to sortie under the direction of yourself and Marcus." The tactician unfurled his map once more, setting it against a tree, "you are to cross the river immediately, alongside with Dieck's men. The Caelin archers are to join you, under the direction of Wallace. The rest of the army, under Sir Paris, is to march northbound along the riverbank. In a half day's time, there will be the next crossing. The army is to cross this bridge as quick as possible, where they shall march towards the plains north of Castle Laus."

"Why not march the entire army across the bridge here?"

"In order for our plan to work, we must completely isolate the Pheraen and Caelin force."

"Where shall Lord Roy be in this plan?" Marcus hopped on his steed as the young lord in question rode over, "is he to lead the Pheraen force?"

"I suppose so, yes. It is good that he gets firsthand experience with my tactics…" Mark nodded to each of the commanders, "you all have your orders. Oh," Mark rolled the ancient map back up, "would someone mind bringing Chad and Thany to me? I need to speak to them…"

* * *

><p>News came of the onslaught three candlemarks later; the first wave's failure infuriated Erik and caused him to sack the commanding captain. Nearly forty men had been effortlessly killed due to recklessness and arrogance; he had long thought that he had stamped out those annoying qualities from his army! Nonetheless, Erik donned his warhelm as he issued the mobilization of his army. Unlike most of Lycia, Laus was able to field a stout number of men due to their position within the heartland of Lycia. With nearly three hundred men at his disposal, Marquis Erik represented a large portion of Lycia's potential might.<p>

What Erik had recognized, however, was while Laus was able to field more men than any other Lycian state other than Ostia, its soldiers were often vastly inferior to other regulars, especially those of Ostia, Pherae, and Caelin. Erik set out to correct this costly fact, requiring nearly ten years of intense training and restructuring before the man deemed his army equal to those of Lycia. Setting out with his lance in hand, the army of Laus at his back, Erik moved to make true on his beliefs.

Keeping Asticot along with Rutger at the keep to command the army in the event that the marquis fell in battle, Erik covered the majority of the grasslands before the sight of the mighty river came upon them. Unable to see the mighty army across the river, Erik anticipated a trap was in store for the native force. Requiring a plan of action, however, Erik ordered a score of horsemen to move on the bridge, though slow enough so that a dozen spearmen could follow. All seemed to be fine as the men crossed the bridge, with all thirty two men reaching safely across; the instant that happened, however, caused Erik to panic. Noticing a movement underneath the bridge, the Marquis of Laus looked on with despair as the bridge snapped into the river, smoking drifting upwards curiously. A boy in yellow robes climbed from the steep bank, his robes dirty from the mud alongside the bank. Almost immediately, over forty men climbed from the bank, having been hidden from view by the width of the bridge. Face nearly turning purple in anger, Erik ordered the call to charge before a rain of arrows fell on the stranded soldiers.

The arrows were launched from a large hill that pointed the bend in the river. Atop the hill, having hidden themselves in trees and shrubbery, a little over thirty archers drew back their bows once more, raining death on the men on the eastern bank. The stranded Laus soldiers futilely attempted to reach the other shoreline before a combination of arrow and fire ended any chance of such a success.

Moving his men into an arrow formation, Erik ordered an all out charge of his cavalry. The heavily armed men stormed outwards, their lances extended as they pounded towards their enemy. Although the Lycian archers and the fire mage would claim more than one Laus life in the attack, the immense power of the cavalry charge would claim many more. As the lancers drew closer, a bellowing laugh came from the defenders as they suddenly charged forward. Unused to such an aspect of battling, the Laus men charged forward undaunted – that is, until a force of Caelin horsemen emerged from behind the hill. Led by the green knight from the parley, the Caelin knights slammed into the left flank of Erik's men, throwing the Laus formation into disarray. Attacked in the front by the heavy blades and axes of the mercenaries and the lances of the Caelin knights, Erik knew his men were doomed. Though his cavalry gave the best they could, claiming more than one allied life in the process, they fell to a man as yet another Laus offensive was stopped.

Realizing he may lose the field now due to his lack of cavalry, Erik issued an order for retreat. Turning tail and fleeing towards Castle Laus, the rest of his men nearly broke out to a sprint as the sight of death caused them to tuck their tail between their legs. Ahead of the army on his steed, Erik could barely wonder how he had been so overmatched on the field. Surely, though, behind the walls of the castle, he would be able to even the odds.

* * *

><p>Carefully crafted over the centuries by marquises who had the same outlook on what Ostia should be, the defensive structures that defined Ostia doubled as more than that. Lion's Hold, the single greatest defensive structure in all of Elibe, was also the place where Ostian marquises spoke unto their people. This was not due to the fact that they were removed from the rest of Ostia and needed to be separated by water and stone but because of the fact that Lion's Hold was the tallest structure within the city.<p>

Originally, Marquis Ostia would stand behind the walls where they would speak as loud as they possibly could over the crowd that typically gathered before them. Although not exactly effective, it worked better than to pass decrees on paper and causing the populace to not see their leader. When Marquis Uther came to power, however, the first major renovation he did was to install a platform on the front of Lion's Hold. Though slightly compromising the strength of the wall, the platform allowed a greater view of the marquis as well as a greater ability to communicate clearly. Able to stand before his people and speak clearly, Lord Uther had considered the project to be one of the more successful orders he had given. When the people saw their lord clearly, it instilled a belief that the man was more than just a title, that he truly cared for him; this eventually led to the absolute adoration for Uther and, in turn, his brother Hector. Due to the immense popularity of this new type of speaking, the platform eventually became known as 'Uther's Landing'.

Jutting out from the center of Lion's Hold, over the large drawbridge, Uther's Landing was built with the marquis' security in mind. Although the platform extended out over the water, there was no true way to access the land except from the actual battlements of Lion's Hold. Because Uther's Landing was lower than the walls of Lion's Hold, any possible attempts at an assassination from the walls were near impossible. The platform provided a perfect place for the marquis to address his people as well as providing superb protection during these speeches.

When General Leygance had announced that he was to speak to the people, it went without saying that he would be speaking from Uther's Landing. Though the speech would not begin until the afternoon, the commoners began to linger around the front where the drawbridge lowered, eagerly awaiting General Leygance. Although public opinion was generally against him, it was still the first official act that Leygance was undertaking as regent. As the sun reached its highpoint, the small crowd had expanded greatly into the streets and past the shops. Hundreds of men, women, and children were staring towards Uther's Landing, gossiping amongst themselves for the reason behind the speech.

As he looked down from a window within the castle, Leygance couldn't help but sneer slightly. He had never held an exact sort of love for the Ostian populace, not like the marquises did. Checking it to his miserable childhood, General Leygance simply recognized the people for their importance in his power. Leygance realized, too late for his own popularity, that a lordship was never proven legitimate without the people. It was for that reason that he had decided to make himself, and Lady Lilina, publically available for the first time in nearly a week. Why, he even decided to allow the heiress speak to her people – well, with persuasion to her words, of course.

"Lord Leygance," Devias knuckled his breastplate, "there are archers situated atop the battlements of Lion's Hold, milord. Likewise, two knights are posted at Uther's Landing and shall stand guard while you speak."

Leygance didn't bother to point out Devias' mistakes regarding his title any longer. With the imprisonment of Lady Lilina and the banishment of Barth, there were none within Castle Ostia who did not consider Leygance to be their lord. "Very good. Is Lilina being brought here?"

"Aye sire. I ordered my lieutenants to acquire the lady."

Lilina joined the two men shortly after, her head bent over in dejection. Though the daughter of Hector had been obstinate the first few days she had been locked up, her resolve had been worn down by the lack of food given to her. Eventually pleading with Leygance to release her from her prison, the general allowed the lady to have some semblance of freedom. The man, however, forced Lady Lilina to the same bedchambers as he at night, which made for much entertainment for Leygance at the girl's expense. Nonetheless, outside of some harmless taunting and teasing, the general ensured that the girl's safety was not compromised, deeming her far too valuable to be made as a toy.

Upon the sight of Lilina, with the two armed guards beside her, Leygance smiled. "Lady Lilina…we've been waiting for you."

The bluenette granted the man a death glare, "I am not your pawn, Leygance."

"Of course not, milady," Leygance kindly smiled as he gave his arm towards the girl, "I believe I informed you on today's proceedings?"

The teen linked her arm through the general's, nodding ever so slightly. Though the interaction between the two seemed amicable, Lilina was afraid for her life. Afraid that if she did not do as Leygance commanded, her life would turn forfeit. Although any political damage the man did could be overturned with time, human lives could not be replaced. "Yes, you did."

"Good then…let us step foot outside, milady."

Passing through the large oaken doors that separated them from the outside, the purple garbed general led his blue-haired charge towards the front, where she waved to her people. Upon seeing the sight of the lady Lilina, the Ostian people erupted in approval and joy. For the first time in seven days, Lilina truly smiled in happiness as the people chanted her name; the sight of pure exultation that the commoners gave was enough to make the heiress laugh in joy. Leygance couldn't help but smile at this as his plan worked. Instantly, the minds of the crowd changed as they witnessed their beloved Lady Lilina share the same stage as the hated Leygance and their view of the man brightened.

Electing not to wave as Lilina did, Leygance stood off to the side as he watched the crowd die down. To them, he was just the general, the placeholder until their Lord Hector returned from the front. In order for him to be truly recognized as their protector, he would have to be legally installed as the Lord of Ostia, something that would never happen as long as the royal blood of Roland were still prevalent within the city.

Eventually, after many minutes of simple waving and cheering, the crowd quieted to hear Lilina speak. Gulping audibly, Leygance suppressed a smile as the girl summoned the strength to speak.

"People of Ostia, it is with no small amount of pleasure that I see you today," she spread her arms out wide, "I am renewed to see so many pleasant faces looking up towards me and I am here to say…thank you. Thank you for trusting in my father and I, in our choice for regent," a gesture towards Leygance was met with more than a few hisses and boos, "and for our decision to defend Ostia and Lycia. I realize that these past few weeks have been most strenuous but, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for your unending support and patriotism."

The teen waited for the applause to die down before speaking once more, "I realize I have made myself scarce to you this past week but it is with no feeling of trepidation that I say I will make myself more available to you, my people, and it is with much joy that I will say the following…"

"Upon the noon of the fifth of May, within the Ostian Colosseum, I am pleased to announce that five nobles, including General Leygance, will take on all comers for four candlemarks. After which these four candlemarks have passed, the five men remaining shall duel, with one man claiming victory over the other four…" Lilina paused, breathing deeply, her hands shaking profusely against the stone, "with the blessings of my father, Lord Hector, Marquis of Ostia, I shall be wed to this champion within the following week of his triumph."

Leygance could hardly contain the overwhelming joy in his heart as he watched the people cheer at the announcement.


	8. Raise Thy Sword

**Raise Thy Sword**

_May 2nd, 999 A.S._

_Castle Laus, Lycian League, Elibe_

Erik snarled as he tossed his helm to the floor, dismounting his warhorse as he did so; cursing vehemently under his breath as he summoned his captain to his side. With the loss of all of his heavy cavalry, there was no chance for Laus to win the battle with the Lycian army on the open field, Instead, with his recently fortified fortress, Erik hoped to draw the Lycian army towards his castle and negate their superior numbers as well as their cavalry. Although most commanders would press the field and attempt to sally from their castle and use the terrain to their advantage, Erik was no fool; were it any other Lycian state they were facing, such tactics may have worked for the Laus army. However, forming the backbone of the Lycian Alliance was the Pherean cavalry, easily the most dominant cavalry force in Elibe. Without the superiority of numbers, there was no hope that Laus could force Pherae from the field.

However, if they retreated into their hole, Lord Erik figured he could force the Lycian Army to attack the walls of Castle Laus. Though Erik was no fool to believe that the Laus domains would fall to an extended siege, he knew that the Lycian Army had no such time at their hands. If his messengers were to be believed, the combined forces of the other Lycian states were making a beeline for Ostia. It was understandable why the Lycian capital was their destination. In the wake of Araphen's fall and Bern's triumph, it was paramount that Ostian hegemony was established. Through the Lycian Covenant, only Ostia and Ostia alone could bestow the power of state upon itself and only in times of crisis; through this, Ostia would essentially become the state of Lycia and the Lord of Ostia would become the Lord of Lycia.

Although such actions had never been pursued before, a national emergency had occurred after a war with Etruria in the 500s. With the current state of affairs within the Lycian League, Erik had no doubts in his mind that was the reason the remnants of the Lycian Army was marching so hastily towards Ostia. With the arrival of Roy of Pherae and Paris of Thria, the two lords granted validity towards the motion of an Ostian dictatorship. Whilst Lilina of Ostia was technically enabled to enact the clause should she fit to do so, it would set the remnants of the league to unrest; however, with the arrival of two Lycian nobles at the helm of a coalition army, Ostia's decree would turn from one of tyranny to deliverance.

It was an occasion Erik hoped to avoid and with good reason: should Ostia declare itself protector of the Lycian realm, Laus would be wiped from existence. Although Erik's current dealings operated in the shadows and behind closed doors, knowledge of Laus coming to blows with the rest of Lycia would quickly become public knowledge. Such an end would destroy the Laus state as its own people would likely reject Laus in favor for personal security and likelihood of a Lycian victory. Erik's only hope was to bog the army down long enough for Narshen to take Ostia. Should Ostia fall to Narshen's forces, any opportunity for a Lycian rally would be cut down. It was imperative that Lycia bit his bait and draw itself in.

Although they were outnumbered two to one, the Laus army held all the cards in their favor; their disadvantage in numbers was negated by the walls of the castle. With the addition that most of Lycia's cavalry was rendered useless by the ditch of swords and stakes that surrounded the walls. Armed with the ability to set arrows ablaze due to the braziers atop the battlements and a vast cellar filled with rations, Laus could easily hold the defense against the Lycian enemy.

"Captain," Erik nodded towards a man with decorated armor, "raise the alarm. Set fire to the braziers. I want all of our archers atop the walls along with guards posted to ensure that the enemy does not attempt to scale them."

"Of course sire," the man saluted and jogged off, nearly bowling over the portly priest that waddled his way up to the Lycian lord.

"Milord," Asticot wheezed, "an Etrurian noble is here to see you."

Erik raised an eyebrow at this, his face not belying his inner thoughts. "An Etrurian noble? Of what sort?"

"It seems to be the son of Count Reglay, the former Mage General."

Erik's eyes widened at this, his mouth contorting upwards. "He must be here to take his sister back to Etruria...Asticot," the overweight retainer looked towards his liege lord, "that cannot happen! Stall him, entertain him, do anything!"

"Of course sir..."

Asticot dipped low before walking towards the main conference chamber, running his hands through his long black hair as he did so. As Erik watched him go, he couldn't help but feel a stone sink in his stomach as he caught a glimpse of blonde hair in the secluded chamber. He needed to think of a plan and he needed one immediately. "Rutger," the red garbed warrior looked towards him, "go fetch Lady Clarine. Report to me as soon as you are able. And do not harm her!" Erik grinned mischievously, "we must ensure she is in good condition for our tribute to Bern."

In his worries about his state, Erik did not see the fire turn alight in Rutger's eyes at those words.

Mark walked towards Roy, bowing slightly as he did so. The tactician had followed the Caelin archers across the river, leaving instructions for Paris and the Ostian Rickard to march north and cross the river before swinging the majority of the army's infantry back south. Confident in the young noble and the grizzled veteran, Mark had stood alongside Wallace on the hilltop, instructing the different attacks that cut down the Laus cavalry. After forcing Marquis Erik to a tactical retreat, Mark had rounded up the small force, cutting down any stragglers or rear guard that attempted to stall them. Establishing a perimeter around a small hill outside the range of Laus' archers, Mark summoned the company leaders to a small circle of dirt he had cleared out.

Roy was the first to reach the small circle. Raising his hand slightly in greeting, he eyed his tactician curiously. "Well met Mark. May I inquire you of something?"

"Anything, Master Roy."

"Why is it that you needed my cape?" The capeless noble inquired the tactician, who winked at him with a grin."

"It shall all be clear soon, Master Roy." He bowed before another smile appeared on his face. "Gentlemen," Mark nodded as the other warriors drew close, "congrats on your victory, however small it is in the grand scheme of this war."

"However small the victory is, it is a victory nonetheless," Marcus tugged at his beard, "we should do well to capitalize on our momentum."

"Marquis Erik has holed up within his castle however. We won't be able to force him out without a drag down fight."

Mark nodded, "indeed, Master Roy. Normally, I would entertain a different approach towards sacking Castle Laus but we have not the necessary number of men nor the time available to conduct such an assault. Therefore, I would entertain a discussion as to how this shall be accomplished."

"Shall we have the aid of Sirs Paris and Rickard?"

The master tactician drew a weaving line in the dirt with a small stick, eventually bisecting it with a tiny line drawn horizontally. Directly to the left of the smaller line, Mark drew a small x; he moved his hand further down, almost directly south from the x before making a small triangle. To the northwest of the triangle, he made a small circle before setting the stick off to the side. "The x indicates where Paris should be with his force. As you know, that consists of almost all of our infantry, with the exception of Dieck's men. And, of course, Sir Wallace." Mark nodded at the grinning general who chuckled alongside Sain. "Our force consists entirely of Dieck's men, cavalry, and archers. Coupled with Lugh, who is our sole magician, we do not pose much of a threat to Erik's men in terms of being able to outperform."

"We have a lack of versatility amongst our forces as well," Sain noted, "if he is able to isolate one section of our force, they shall be decimated...you never answered my question Mark. Will Sir Pairs come to our aid?"

"Unlikely. It is a half-day's ride to the river crossing to the north. It would take them another eight or so candlemarks for them to even be in the vicinity, let alone be able to come to our aid. And the longer we wait..."

"The longer Marquis Erik has to strengthen his position..." Roy ran his hands through his hair, adjusting his headband as he did so. The Pheraen heir had taken another five lives that day and it seemed to be weighing on him. Although a talk from Marcus had resolved his feelings on the matter, it did nothing to help his aching heart. "Would it be possible to storm the gate?"

"I would wager not. We don't have the manpower to perform such a task."

Mark nodded his agreement, "and I do not believe scaling the walls would be a smart choice either. Although some small castles and forts do not have moats or traps protecting their walls, Erik is smarter than that. I'm willing to wager that he's got something buried under that dirt around those walls."

"Additionally," Sain pointed towards the main gate of the castle, where the drawbridge covered the large metal gate that surely sat behind it, "he has a draw bridge raised. We'd have to bust through that first."

Mark looked up at this, "there's a wooden drawbridge over that gate?" When the strategist confirmed it for himself, he paused, "I cannot believe I didn't notice that...that suddenly gives us a chance."

"Eh?" Wallace loomed over the rest of the participants, "whaddya mean Mark?"

"What I mean is this...that drawbridge is right in front of where most of Erik's archers will be concentrated, correct? Now, they have a massive advantage because we cannot begin to assault the gatehouse before that bridge is down. However, I am willing to believe we can force them to lower it."

Dieck raised an eyebrow, "what do you mean?"

"We set fire to the drawbridge." He looked humored as the other men glanced at him confusedly. "You see, by setting fire to that bridge, we'll be restricting their visibility through the smoke. Those will only be the archers atop the gatehouse, although it is easily half of them, if not more. When the smoke becomes too much to see through, they'll be forced to move to other parts of the battlements. Although we will not be immune to their arrows, we will force them to temporarily halt them. That gives us much needed respite for when we inevitably charge. Now, then, they have two choices. Let the bridge burn or lower it to put out those flames. Should they let it burn, then we simply wait it out. Should they lower it, however, we will rush them with our cavalry. With enough weight on the bridge, it won't be able to be raised once more. From there, all we need to do is get through the gatehouse."

"Easier said than done. How do you expect us to get through that iron gate?"

"Well, Sain my old friend..." Mark started as he watched a pegasus fly off in the backgroudn, "I have already enacted my plan to accomplish this..."

* * *

><p>As soon as Asticot walked through the door to the chamber, he could feel the daggers emanating from the Etrurian noble. Although the boy looked young - very young - Asticot was not daft enough to ignore nobility when he saw it. With the boy's regal looking cloak draping his figure, Asticot was impressed by the boy's noble nature. With a bow, the slimy Laus retainer looked towards his new guest, a charming smile pushing its way onto his grotesque face.<p>

"Master Reglay. It does me great pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Asticot, head retainer and personal priest of Marquis Laus, Lord Erik." The man looked around the otherwise empty room, "I was informed that you were escorted by a retainer, milord?"

"Ah, yes. Thany. She...went to calm her pegasus." The blonde teen clapped his hands together once, "I understand that you are currently...engaged in hostilities with the rest of your country?"

Asticot nervously swallowed, "ah, yes, well...it is but a minor issue. Nothing major, simple squabbling about territorial boundaries."

"Ah, I see. Well, for the sole sake of that reason, I hope you do not mind that I...carry this, do you?" The teen drew back his cloak, revealing a sharp dagger on his waist, nestled close to a small gold pouch. "One must never be too careful..."

"Oh, I absolutely agree sire! Would you like to engage in a meal, sire? Surely, such a long voyage from Etruria must be such a tiresome affair..."

"Hm..." the boy tapped his chin, "I believe I would enjoy a fair dash of deer, should you have it?"

"Of course we do for milord! If you would patiently wait here for a moment, I shall order the chefs to prepare an exquisite meal for you!" Asticot went to exit the way he came before looking over his shoulder, "oh, and milord, please do not leave this room. With such heightened security, it would be a...tragedy should a guard believe you to be unwelcome."

Watching as Asticot left the room, the thin teen visibly sighed as he sat down, shaking slightly. Born and raised in abject poverty, Chad had never been one to put on airs nor pretend he was someone he was not. In such dire circumstances, however, he surprised himself by his ability to lie.

"Chad, you scoundrel, Father Lucius is going to give you a stern talking to when you go to Heaven..." The boy smiled to himself before laying his head on the table, trying to figure out how he could sneak to the front gate undetected.

* * *

><p>Nestled deep in the backrooms of Castle Laus, Clarine pulled her legs in closer to her torso, the soles of her feet resting on the wooden chair she sat on. The fire in front of her crackled, casting a warmth over the room that was entirely unneeded; she had insisted that one of the servants that catered to her start the fire so she was able to watch something move and bring life to the dull room. A few candlemarks ago, a force of Laus cavaliers had set out from the castle before a diminished force returned to the castle; that was all the excitement of the day and Clarine once more returned to mindlessly staring towards the orange lapping flames.<p>

Although her initial days within Laus were productive and filled with learning, it quickly turned into a hell on earth. Although she was treated with respect and kindness, she knew it was solely due to her position as the daughter of Pent of Reglay; she became a prisoner of this castle and was forbidden to leave her room. Unsure as to why she was restricted to the area, she summoned Lord Erik and was met with disdain and was insultingly disregarded.

Although Clarine wasn't sure why she had been forced away, she suspected it had to do with her studying of Laus' financial records. When the edict for her imprisonment came from Marquis Laus, she had been beginning to study the records of when Erik had ascended the role of marquis from his father. Although Darin's track record with finances was shrewd, there was truly nothing to praise besides the general upswing of fortunes after the Fall of Cornwell, a well documented case within Etruria. Nothing within Darin's reign suggested that Laus was able to become the financial powerhouse it was today.

That meant that Erik was surely attempting to hide his actions from Clarine. Although the bright girl was unsure as to what led to the rise of Laus' fortunes, she highly suspected he was embezzling funds from Lycian coffers or withholding tribute to Ostia. It was understandable as to why Erik would wish to hide such acts from her; after Cornwell's destruction from both within and other Lycian states, any sort of major embezzlement would result in the likely destruction of Erik. Although Laus was likely to survive such an incident, being one of the higher houses of Lycia, Erik himself would be forced to abdicate to a heir or, more likely, Ostian stewardship.

So focused in her inner thoughts, Clarine didn't notice the knocks at the door until a man coughed. Inwardly rolling her eyes, the Etrurian princess opened the door for her visitor. "Yes?"

Before her, a young man stood garbed in red. Clarine had seen him a few times throughout the castle and knew him to be a guard of Lord Erik. He regarded her coolly before closing the door behind him, answering her confused stare. "Lady Clarine, follow me. Do not make noise, do not draw attention to yourself."

As he went to turn, she stopped him with a hand of his forearm, "excuse me!? Who are you to order me around?"

"If you wish to leave this castle...you will listen to me."

"You..!" She forced herself to calm down, regarding the man with an inquisitive eye, "why are you helping me?"

"I am not in agreement with Lord Erik's plans." He looked at what little belongings she had, "grab your necessities. I have prepared two horses for our escape." He handed her a cloth bag, at which she raised her nose in disapproval.

"Ugh, a lady cannot put her things in such a disgusting bag..." Nonetheless, she went to her desk where she began to place her perfume and beauty supplies before Rutger took them from her bag and placed them back on the desk. "A lady requires her beauty supplies! You cannot expect me to leave them behind! This perfume was made using the finest fragrances Aquleia has to offer!"

"It doesn't matter if it was made using pure gold. We're not taking it."

With a face, she grabbed a change of clothes and, with a grimace, stuffed them into the small sack. Tossing her gold pouch into the bag, she hoisted the bag over her shoulder before grabbing the small staff beside her bed. "Okay. Lead me away, Sir...you never told me your name! It is very impolite to not give a noble your name!"

"Rutger. And I'm not knight." Rutger took her bag from her, tying it to a small leather strap that ran over his shoulder. "Follow me and be sure to be as quiet as possible. It will be difficult to leave this place."

With a silent nod, Clarine followed her savior. Rutger led her through the back chambers, using as many side passages as possible to avoid being seen. Although she was unaware of the fact that he was officially supposed to be bringing her to Lord Erik, he knew better than to expect compliance with any of the guards. Because of the current state of matters, heightened security was expected and anything that was out of place would be investigated. Clarine continued to follow Rutger before he led them to a room, far from where they had started.

With a nod, they entered the room wherein Clarine let out a sigh. "That is so...exciting!" At a raised eyebrow, she continued. "Just feeling like you're going to be captured! A princess and her attractive savior escaping from the evil clutches of a corrupt king! How very much like a fairytale!"

"...we need to reach the front of the castle before we leave. Apparently, your brother is here."

Clarine's head whipped around at this, her eyes widening with each second. "My brother Klein is here!? Rutger, we must go to him!"

Rutger nodded as he ventured to the back. From what Clarine could gather, this was Rutger's own personal room; sparsely furnished, the sole possession that did not exist in Clarine's own room was a sword sitting in the corner. Rutger grabbed the scabbard and attached it to his waist, nodding at Clarine once more. "Yes. We will get your brother and then exit Laus. Now, we must hurry."

* * *

><p>Chad grinned as he shoveled more food into his mouth. Shortly after leaving, Asticot had returned with a promise that a grand meal was being prepared for the 'Son of Reglay'; as soon as the food had arrived, Chad spent no time in carving a swathe of destruction through the finely prepared boar. Although Asticot attempted to make small talk throughout the meal, the thief was rendered unable to reply by the food that was constantly being torn to pieces. Eventually, however, Chad slowed his pace and let Asticot have his piece.<p>

"Master Klein, forgive my impudence, but what do we have the honor for your apperance on this...grave afternoon?" Asticot's beady eyes watched as what was left of the boar was removed from the table. The hefty priest had not stopped his eyes from investigating the teen that sat before him, stopping his eyes multiple times on the hems of Chad's pants. The thief did not need to look down to know that the priest was taking in his appearance.

"Well, I uh...wished to travel the countryside of Etruria and get to...know the people better." The teen gulped nervously, hoping his lie was not as blatant as it seemed. Mark hadn't briefed him on what to say in this circumstance!

"Ah, I see. What leads you so far from Etruria milord?"

This, however, he was prepared for. "I wish to see my sister." Somehow (likely from word from Steward Kent or Sir Paris) the master tactician had deduced that the daughter of Count Reglay was within Laus. It was the sole reason that Mark had decided to have Chad impersonate his son, Klein. "I understand she has been within Laus for some time now."

Asticot noticeably reddened, "ah, yes, Lady Clarine has been a most delightful guest..." He looked around nervously, "er, there wouldn't happen to be any...specific reason behind your desire to see your sister?"

Chad shook his head, "no. Simply that it has been many months since I have seen her. I was near the border of our countries and I decided to make a detour. I hope this won't be detrimental or too much to ask."

"Of course not, Master Klein." The priest bowed low, the tips of his long greasy hair nearly touching the floor; the man ran his fingers through the black locks, causing Chad to grimace at the way the man's hair shone. "Er...would you wish to be...toured around the castle before you meet your honored sister?"

"If you could instruct me where her room is, I am sure I can find the way."

"Oh, that is too much to ask! Surely you will get lost...this castle is very large..."

"I am sure I wil-"

The door opening behind Asticot startled both men. The Laus retainer spun on his heel with a lock of abject shock as Lady Clarine stepped through the door, Rutger right behind her. The door shut quietly as the scarlet swordsman shut it, staring down Asticot as he did so. The priest's mouth opened and closed as he looked at Clarine before immediately looking towards Chad.

"Er...Lady Clarine...your brother and I were just talking about meeting you..." The priest walked towards the young lady, his hands wringing together nervously.

The blonde girl blinked once or twice, looking back and forth between Chad and Rutger before she shook her head slowly. "That is...not my brother..."

All eyes turned immediately towards Chad, who stood up from his seat. The teen's eyes darted between the three other people in the room, his mouth attempting to form words and almost failing. "Shit..."

Asticot's eyes widened, his face turning a bright red. Pointing a chubby finger towards Chad, the retainer looked towards Rutger, "that boy is a Lycian spy! Rutger, murder the vermin!"

The swordsman nodded slowly. "As you say."

Withdrawing from his waist a wicked looking sword, causing the teen in front of him to pull a dagger from his belt. Without saying a word, Rutger stepped forward and lunged. The sword pierced the throat of the male, dark blood splattering over both the victim and the killer as the curved sword dripped blood onto the ornate floor. Asticot looked at Rutger in shock, his body collapsing in a heap as the man withdrew his sword. The priest, unable to form word, gargled on his own blood before life drained from his eyes, leaving nothing but a corpse, as displeasing to the eye in death as it had been in life.

Clarine looked on his horror, her eyes moving slowly from the dead man to Rutger, who looked disinterestedly towards Chad. The thief had stopped dead in his tracks, warily regarding Rutger as the swordsman raised an eyebrow at the teen. "Are you truly a Lycian spy?"

Chad looked towards the still-warm Asticot and then towards the sword in Rutger's hand before nodding slowly, "yes. Lord Roy of Pherae is my commander."

"Who is the Lycian Army fighting?"

"Laus. And Bern."

Rutger's eye flashed at this as he nodded slowly. The young man sheathed his sword, calmly regarding Chad as he did so. "Follow me then."

"Wait," Chad regarded Rutger coolly, "where are we going?"

"To the gatehouse. I take it that you were going to open the gates, yes?"

* * *

><p>Similar to a pendulum, the fortunes and moods within Ostia could change from one extreme to the other in a half a day's time. Constantly, days were made and destroyed as men were created and ruined. Lives were made greater and lives were shattered; as it was with any major city, the people were fickle in their approval and happiness yet were constant in their desires. It was for this reason that the mood within Ostia had turned completely around from what it had been that morning. With the reappearance of their beloved Lady Lilina, the Ostian commoners' support had shifted from disapproval of Leygance to complete support.<p>

Though the short announcement had been brief, Lilina and Leygance had lingered on Uther's Landing for a candlemark after the speech had ended. The people had showered their praises upon the lady and her loyal advisor, cheering them well into the afternoon as the crowd grew in size as news of the announcement spread throughout the street. Although the people eventually withdrew to their shops and homes, it was a great while before Ostia had finally settled into a relative quietness.

Throughout the rest of the capital, shops, homes, and taverns were ablaze in merriment as the populace discussed the announcement. Taverns and inns in particular were quite clamorous as the joyous news was shared over ale, as men fantasized about entering and winning the competition for the hand of the beautiful Lady Lilina. Women issued dreams of romanticism of how lovely it would be to have a tournament issued for their hand. Mercenaries created pacts with one another, promising to watch the other's back until the final stages of the competition.

Yet, despite all the joyousness within Ostia, there were notable pockets of dissention. In particular, the tenants of the _Iron Cauldron _were far from pleased with the result of the day's announcement. Although many of the leaders of the anti-Leygance coalition were not present at the event, its contents quickly made its way to the ears of one Sir Barth. In response to the news, the Ostian commander had assembled his brain trust, immediately planning their next move to counter Leygance.

After Astol's shocking news that their lord had perished at Araphen, dire straits had come unto Barth's motley alliance. With the loss of Hector and the blessing that Lilina had bestowed upon Leygance's actions meant that Barth had no legal recourse for his actions. Prior to Lilina's speech and news of Hector's death, Barth could have acted in the missing marquis' name, citing that unlawful conduct from Leygance initiated the actions against him. Now, however, with Lilina's public showing of support for the regent, there was little Barth could do to oppose him.

"Where is Matthew?" Wendy inquired, the sole missing leader amongst the anti-Leygance force. The handful of comrades had once again met within one of Zealot's rooms on the third floor, one of the many that Zealot had reserved when his mercenaries had come to Ostia. "He is the only one missing."

"I believe I saw him speaking to a woman a few moments ago outside. The man looked rather haggard."

"I am sure," Barth nodded towards the door, "that Matthew will be here. He has reasons for all that he does. Reasons that are above our right to understand."

Oujay looked up at this, "Matthew ranks above you, Sir Barth?"

"Officially, no. Unofficially, Matthew is the fourth most important person in all of Ostia. Only Lord Hector, Lady Lilina, and Sir Oswin can be considered more essential to Ostia than Matthew." Barth coughed then, "let us not speak of him, however. Our issues are far more pressing than the current chain of responsibilities."

The most experienced knight in the room nodded his head in agreement. "I concur. What we should be talking about is how we're going to stop Leygance's plot."

"Do you have any ideas, Commander?" Treck, although young, had been vouched for by Zealot as one of his most trustworthy and capable warriors. Although not as experienced as his commander was, Treck had, alongside Noah, won over the trust of Barth.

The Ilian knight tapped a finger to his chin, "is there any way we could sneak into the castle, Sir Barth?"

The mohawked Ostian paused before slowly shaking his head. "For men like you or I? No. However, it may be accomplished by other individuals."

"Who are you thinking of?"

"Matthew and Astol are well trained in the arts of concealment. Because of the fact that many of men are Ostian knights, it would be hard for any of us to get past Leygance's men. However..." Barth looked to Oujay, "Oujay may very well be able to." At the puzzled looks that were given to him, the Ostian commander continued. "You see, out of all of us, those three are the only ones who cannot be truly identified on sight. Zealot, your men and my men both carry crests upon their breasts. It would be much more difficult for them to be unnoticed inside the castle."

The mercenary commander nodded, "what you say speaks true. Your men cannot enter the castle for obvious reasons while my men are not familiar with your castle."

A series of knocks followed at the door, causing all the occupants within the room to look towards the cause; Noah stood and cracked the door open, peaking to the outside before allowing Matthew in. The master spy nodded to his fellow conspirators before sitting beside Astol. "Evening gentlemen. May I ask what we are discussing?"

"The plan, it seems, is that you and I shall take Oujay and sneak into the castle."

Matthew regarded Astol for a moment before nodding, understanding the logic behind such a decision. Time had certainly affected Ostia's spymaster as much as it had the rest of the Campaign's companions. Not nearly the warrior he had once been, the assassin still held an agility and nimbleness that evaded most men. The chosen left hand of the great Lord Hector, Matthew had fought many times in his life and had not always emerged unscathed - though he was often patched up by a certain cleric, his body carried the remainders of his youth.

"Makes sense. What of the rest of you fine folk? Surely," he grinned slightly, "you cannot expect to place the entire burden of an operation on two grandfathers and a youngster. No offense to those included in that statement," he said with a smile towards Oujay and Astol.

"Luckily for you, Matthew, we were just getting to that part." Barth crossed his arms as he looked towards his fellow Ostian. "Do you have any knowledge of how Leygance's tournament will commence?"

Matthew nodded, "from my understanding, Leygance plans to enter in five men at a time. The ten men - Leygance and his four cronies and the five newcomers - will fight nonstop until there are five men left standing. Then the process shall repeat for four candlemarks. Additionally, Leygance has apparently increased the time of the tournament from four candlemarks to six. He is going to begin at noon. The tournament is exclusively for the knightly class - only knights and nobles shall be permitted to enter."

"Six candlemarks..." Barth whispered, "Sir Zealot, do you believe you can send a stream of knights to challenge Leygance?"

"Sir Barth..." The Ilian knight looked towards his lieutenants before looking at his Ostian counterpart, "surely you must understand that I will not jeopardize my men's lives..."

"If it helps," Matthew interrupted, "Leygance specified to the arena master that the tournament is non-lethal until the final round. As in..."

"Until the final five or six men." Zealot nodded then, "very well. I shall arrange for my knights to challenge Leygance. With any such luck, he will not walk away from the field the victor."

"Wonderful news, sirs!" Matthew clapped his hands and smiled, "it is good that we are able to generate such wonderful plans!"

"What has you so chipper today?"

To the surprise of all, the Head of Intelligence smiled further, "because an old friend of mine in Caelin just revealed wonderful news."

"Sir Matthew, what is this news you speak of? And why is it so great that it has put you in such a mood in such dire straits?" The sole woman in the room spoke the minds of all by her.

"I have it on good authority - very good authority, for I have never known my friend to lie in the twenty years I have known him - that Roy of Pherae is leading the remnants of the Lycian Army to Ostia."

A stunned silence struck all the occupants in the room, sans Matthew. Some were shocked for joy whilst others were shocked at the apparently dimming light that was shining their way. It was natural that Zealot and his fellow Ilians would have no idea who Roy of Pherae was nor what exactly that entitled.

"Ostia is going to be attacked by this Roy of Pherae?"

"No, Sir Zealot," Barth shook his head, "Roy of Pherae is the only son of Marquis Pherae, Lord Eliwood. Marquis Eliwood has long been an erstwhile ally of Lord Hector, likely his greatest ally."

Matthew chimed in, "Lords Eliwood and Hector were friends for the greater parts of their lives. Master Roy and Lady Lilina, likewise, are the best of friends. If there is any remaining person on Elibe that has Lilina's best interests at heart, it is Master Roy."

"This changes everything then, does it not?" Noah spoke for the first time that evening. The naturally silent man had been occupying his time by simply listening and taking in all that had transpired. Though Noah was a ferocious warrior, he lacked a strategical mind and found himself out of place in the plots of his allies.

"Indeed it does. With Master Roy now in the picture, we could be looking at a very different outcome. With an army at his back - and you said it was the Lycian Army no less - Master Roy could very well oust Leygance."

"And with the almost definite support of Lady Lilina," Matthew added, "which he will need. For with Roy's coming, it is definite that the people will discover that Lord Hector has perished."

A small silence formed after this as the men and woman reflected on the fallen Lord of Ostia. After a few moments, however, Astol cleared his voice. "Do you know how far away the Lycian Army is?"

"Considering that my information lines were very quick in telling me that the army was just in Caelin yesterday morning, I would believe that they are within the heart of Laus at present." Matthew rubbed his aching shoulder, an irritating sign of his advancing age. "And considering that the man who is advising the army is one that I know very intimately, I can say that they have been moving at a breakneck pace."

"That means they should arrive in Laus, without any complications on..."

"The morning of the tournament," the spymaster finished for Zealot, "and just in time for them to drive out Leygance before he enacts his ploy."

* * *

><p>Due to the territorial nature of mankind after the Scouring, kingdoms were nearly impossible to establish. Village leaders and magistrates were unwilling to give up claim to their territory to a man they had no visage of and whom they believed had no right to rule over them. Although all men within Elibe respected Roland as a warrior, few truly believed in the divine right of kingship that the hero had bestowed upon himself.<p>

A truly good man in all sense of the word, Roland had believed himself the savior of humanity. Although his words rang a bell of truth, the self-dictated importance that the man granted himself caused many to initially dislike him as a leader. Although many within the region of Ostia were quick to crown Roland king, others outside of his immediate vicinity were not as quick to do so. It quickly became of utmost importance to Roland for him to establish claim in the regions around him. Although his temperament would slowly cool down to reveal a caring individual, the task of expanding his rule had been one in the making for some time.

Built in 12 A.S., Castle Laus had long been a dominating feature on the landscape of central Lycia. Imposing and fearsome looking, Roland himself had laid the first stone in its foundation, culminating in a five year long project that eventually resulted in a home that Roland could visit the outlying lands beyond Ostia. It was the Little Knight's first true attempt at moving his power beyond the realm of Ostia. Although Roland did not use leverage nor force against the ruled people of central Lycia, the imposing site of the castle caused a near instant loyalty to be issued to the rising king - though not all of it was out of respect but of fear as well.

It was because of this castle that men of Laus had long considered themselves to be the 'second citizens' of Lycia, a point of exceptional pride. It was said that within Ostia that men from Laus were called 'second class' due to this particular characteristic of Laus beliefs, a saying that irked Laus' people to no end. Because of Laus' unique place in history, it only furthered the rift between Ostia and, in a sense, created much of the animosity between the two Lycian states.

Naturally, Laus considered their castle to be a point of special pride. Though Castle Ostia was unanimously proclaimed to be the greatest castle ever built, the marquises of Laus took exquisite care of their magnificent birthright. Although it had once been shabby by modern standards, Castle Laus eventually grew into the intimidating force it was today, easily able to hold its own against a small army or an unprepared larger force.

And, with no small amount of foresight, a smaller force was forcing the defenders' hand.

Mark watched the gigantic drawbridge engulf itself in flames, spreading a dark black cloud over the castle. Though it was nighttime, the black smoke that drifted upwards was impossible to miss. Though it had taken quite a bit of stealth alongside an accurate placement of arrows coated in tar and grass, Lugh's fireball managed to set the entire drawbridge up in an orange blaze. Though he was nearly certain that the bridge would be lowered, he was more worried that the second half of the plan would not succeed.

"And now we hope for the best, correct?" Sain walked up beside him, leading his horse with reins in hand.

"Correct," Mark looked over towards his longtime friend, "the easy part has been accomplished. One way or another, that bridge is coming down."

"As soon as they lower it, shall we charge?"

The smaller man nodded, "yes."

The two stood in silence for a few moments, watching as the fire took away their minds to places unknown by the other. After a few moments, Sain, ever the talkative man, coughed slightly. "I am surprised you tasked such a young kid with the job."

"He's not a kid, Sain. He's as old as some of us were way back when."

The Green Lance chuckled softly, "and we were kids then too, in case you forgot."

"The seemingly youngest out of all of us was actually one of the oldest. My, our group certainly does have a knack for bucking the age trend. Nils, Ninian, Athos...who knows how old they were. And look at Wallace and Marcus. They're ageless wonders, doing what they have been doing for almost fifty years now." Mark grinned, an emotion reserved for only the closest of friends, "and look at us. Judging kids that were once our age as being 'too young'. How we've changed Sain."

"For the record," the paladin nudged the tactician, "some of us haven't. You still manage to interrupt and order around every noble, every knight, and every commoner you come in contact with."

"Yes well..." Mark shrugged his shoulders before staring towards the drawbridge. "C'mon Chad...don't disappoint me."

As if divining his susurration, the chains from the drawbridge began to loudly come to life. The large wooden bridge lowered itself ever so slowly; Mark was so enveloped in the process that he only vaguely heard Sain ride off and call for his men. Eventually, the bridge fell to the ground with a bang, smothering the flames that had turned the underside black. Unsurprisingly to Mark, the wrought iron gates behind the bridge were lowered. Unlike Araphen, whose gatehouse was think and deep, the gatehouse of Castle Laus was an unintimidating sight that did not strike fear into the heart of the brilliant tactician.

Unlike other fearsome castles such as Ostia or Araphen, Laus was no more invulnerable to attack than a fort. Though Castle Laus had definitely been improved from twenty years ago, the lack of any natural defenses did nothing to increase the security of the castle. In fact, with plains on all four sides of the castle, Castle Laus was one of the more vulnerable castles in all of Lycia. With the ability to surround the castle on all four sides, Castle Laus was any besieger's dream.

Just as Mark raised his hand to signal to Sain to charge, the gates began to open. Quickly waging an internal debate, the tactician ordered the cavalry to storm the gate. Although the Laus forces may have attempted to sally out, any attempts at organizing a defense would be crushed by the Pheraen and Caelin charge. As Mark watched as his forces poured down the hill towards Castle Laus, a speck of white caught his eye. Straining his eyes in the blackness of night, the fabled strategist eventually made out the form of a pegasus. Raising his hand for the young rider to see, Mark nodded as Thany landed gracefully beside him.

"Good job, Thany. Did you encounter any situations?"

"No! Luckily," she added excitedly, "Chad is a very good liar."

Mark nodded slowly, running his hands through his hair. "Aye. That is why I sent him. Does he still have that white flag I told you to wave when you got close to the castle?"

The young Ilian nodded, "I never took it from him, so I should imagine. Why?"

"Because I believe that is him right there then."

Thany followed Mark's finger, eyes narrowing when she saw two horses fleeing the castle. Although the man beside her possessed eyes that would make any man his age jealous, Thany's youthful eyes were still able to discern more than Mark's. Although it was dark out and the two horses were some distance away, Thany was able to deduce that there was one man on one of the horses and then two men on the other - Chad included. When she voiced this information to Mark, his head snapped up.

"Thany," the pegasus knight looked over to him, "fetch Master Roy - he is over on the opposite side of the hill. Instruct him and whomever he has with him - I believe it is Marcus, Alan, and Lance - and tell them to follow Sain's charge. When Marcus inevitably asks why, tell him Erik must be confronted."

"Yes sir!"

As she took to the air and glided the short way over to the Pheraen noble, Mark heard a clanking beside him. Nodding as Wallace drew near, the former Etrurian watched as his young charge took to the field, flanked by whom Mark considered to be the most talented of Pherae's knights. Roy and his men broke out into a fast-paced gallop, their lighter horses moving quicker than the heavy warhorses used by the rest of their men.

"I heard your conversation," the lumbering giant muttered, "trying to get the boy's hands dirty, are ye?"

"Not so much dirty as...experienced."

"What an odd way of saying dirty." Wallace shared a laugh alongside his longtime friend, watching as the two riders from before reached their lines. "The lad needs to be, however. Something tells me this conflict isn't going to resolve itself like twenty years ago."

Mark nodded absent mindedly as he watched the riders slow to a canter, "I believe you're more correct than you know. Wallace. I don't see Bern's aggression ending anytime soon."

"Unfortunately. Why on earth did Zephiel begin this murderous conquest he calls war? He was a bright lad twenty years ago! What went wrong?"

"Hector once wrote to me in a letter that Desmond had tried to have Zephiel killed. Perhaps that has something to do with it..."

No more words were spoken as the two veterans watched the forming battle. Though subject to archer fire, Laus was notorious for having porous marksmanship, often ranking dead last in the annual Lycian Games. Not a single rider had been unhorsed by any of Erik's men in this latest skirmish but as the outcome looked brighter, Laus attempted to rally from the castle. Led by none other than Marquis Laus himself, Laus' men were led out and circled around the gatehouse. The few horsemen that were left resided in the center of the half-circle, alongside the mounted Erik.

The sight of the defense intimidated Roy at first sight. Though he had joined numerous battles against fledgling bandit gangs in the past, as well as the storming of the ruined Castle Araphen, it was the first true time he was charging enemy lines. As it was said by Mark many times, a prepared enemy is a powerful enemy and Roy knew he had yet to face truly competent soldiers. Marcus, seemingly sensing his master's apprehension, looked over at him before nodding wordlessly. Empowered by his knight's faith, the noble urged his mount even faster, pushing the beast's natural limits.

The young man surged out in front of his comrades, not needing to look back to know that they had quickened their own pace to keep up with him. Though Sain's charge had reached the Laus lines, Roy had yet to. Though he did not need to know that his forces were infinitely superior compared to Laus', even he was surprised by the devastation that the initial charge left in its wake. Though more than a few riders had been brought down, the charge had destroyed any semblance of organization in Erik's line. The fighting was now concentrated individually and even Erik knew that Pheraen forces were superior to that of Laus.

Laus had one ace in their hole, however, and that was their own marquis. Though not nearly possessing martial skills like Hector or Eliwood, Erik was more than a match for any knight. Trained in horsemanship and fencing, the Lord of Laus had perfected his fighting form over a twenty year period. After being embarrassed at the hands of Hector and Eliwood, Erik had spent the greater portion of his life attempting to erase his biggest embarrassment - being captured on the field of battle.

Marquis Laus had engaged in battle with nearly five knights at once and was, shockingly, gaining the upper hand. Disarming a knight of his axe, the mounted noble cut the man's steed out from underneath him before parrying a blow from a sword wielding knight. The marquis drove his blade him into the man's stomach before pulling back on the reins of his horse, dodging a near fatal blow from an axe. Engaging with the knight who attempted the swing, the marquis quickly dispatched of the man before his eyes widened; his young adversary had leapt over the line of fallen men, his eyes locked with Erik's. Urging his mount backwards, Marquis Laus narrowly avoided a collision with the Pheraen youth.

Time seemed to stand still as the two nobles circled one another; around them, the soldiers nearby had slowed their fighting, eyes locked on their two leaders to watch the battle that was about to unfold. The man from Laus struck first, kicking his horse in the sides to burst forward, sword cutting high towards Roy's head; Roy ducked under the blow, stabbing outwards with his own blade, narrowly missing Erik's side in the process. The two moved apart from the other before wheeling their horses around, making another bout towards the other. As before, Erik used his longer reach to gain an advantage but was unable to land anything but a glancing blow on Roy's shoulder pauldron; the blow, however, was enough to deter Roy's incoming swipe, causing the sword to flicker off path and cut through the strap of Erik's reins. By now, many of the rank and file men had stopped fighting, eager to see the duel of two nobles.

As they readied for a third bout, the Erik growled in annoyance. With the loss of the right rein, Erik had no true way of urging his horse to move in a way applicable for jousting. Simply urging the beast forward with his toe, Marquis Laus raised his hand for yet another bout. As the two drew together, however, Erik realized that the way his horse was moving would not bode well for him; because Erik had to overcompensate with his foot, the horse was veered slightly off to the left, almost moving diagonally to Roy's linear motion. Despite this, Erik pressed the attack, swinging forward once more before the blow was reflected up into the air; his opponent broke tradition with his other attacks, however, and stabbed forward. In the split second that Roy made his attack, Erik realized what the boy meant to do; the marquis immediately withdrew his feet from the stirrups as his horse wobbled, its strength fading from the hole in its breast. As his mount began to collapse to the ground under him, Erik threw himself from the horse, rolling in the dirty roughly before stopping to a half.

Marquis Laus rose to a knee then, eyes narrowing at the events that transpired. Perhaps he had taken the boy too lightly for it was uncommon for a boy his age to resort to such tactics, their ideals often hamstrung by ideals such as honor. Standing, the marquis drew the silver sword from his waist, letting his longsword lay where he fell. Before him, Roy dismounted, handing the reins to his longtime aide, the famous Marcus; by now, Erik had realized what a loss he had endured. Whilst he had dueled with the boy, his own men had been defeated one by one before a fraction of his force remained. A sickening revelation came upon him at that instant, reminding him of a time twenty years prior when his horse had been cut from under him, collapsing on top of him as a burly axe wielder stood triumphant over him.

An immense rage claimed Erik then, pushing him forward as he swung towards the boy; Roy, having sheathed his longsword on his horse's saddle, immediately rolled to the side, drawing his saber as he did so. The two locked blades as Erik cut down, his silver sword stopped by Roy's horizontal blade; the teen struggled under the might of the older man, one hand on the handle and the other near the end of the blade, using all of his might to force his attacker off of him. With a mighty shove, Erik's blade was pushed back before it swung itself back around, cutting across his body; Roy was prepared, however, and flipped his blade vertically, blocking the blow before it reached the point where it possessed the greatest force. Sliding the side of his blade down the sharp edge of Erik's, the teen shoved off once more.

Spinning on his heel, Roy stabbed over his shoulder as the tip of the blade was batted away. Erik spun the blade in a half-circle in front of him before swinging hard from his right, aiming for Roy's arm; the teen brought his own weapon up to defend, grasping the handle with both hands. With the back of the blade situated over his left shoulder, the Pheraen held greater leverage and power than his opponent did, rendering Erik unable to force his own sword down further. In a move unfitting for a noble, the Marquis of Laus wrenched his left hand back and smashed it into the side of Roy's face, sending the teen wheeling backwards; Roy raised his blade just in time to block a vertical cut from Erik, an image similar to the one that began the fight on foot. The Lycian commander, however, kicked out with his foot, his boot striking the Lord of Laus in the stomach; the man doubled over, coughing before he stabbed outwards, unsurprised as his blade was knocked away.

Roy did not finish Erik, however, his honor overruling his judgment once again. The crafty marquis captured the moment and hopped backwards, breathing returning to normal as he regained his breath; as Roy drew close once again, Erik brought his blade from across his body in a powerful upward slice, aiming for the youth's neck. The nimble fighter ducked under the blow and stabbed upwards, his blade sinking into the flesh of Erik's stomach. With a surprised gasp, the Laus noble's arms fell to his sides as his sword dropped from his numb fingers. He looked down towards his midsection where Roy's thin blade had pierced his belly and emerged from underneath his ribs; the Pheraen lord cut to the right with his blade, tearing open the small puncture wound before removing the sword from Erik's body. Roy looked on somberly as Erik fell to his knees, blood beginning to pour forth from his body stained his ruffled shirt and silk pants. With a horrified look, Erik glanced towards his men before his eyes turned to Roy, a small smile on his face.

"Ha...haha...foolish boy...there is no hope for you...you, who oppose the mighty..." Erik coughed, his hand residing on the wound, keeping his innards from spilling out. "Bern is an...unstoppable force...there is nothing...you can do...to save yourself..." The Marquis of Laus coughed, blood splattering the ground in front of him, turning it a dark red; in his blood loss induced haze, the marquis could see his men surrendering their weapons, kneeling before their fallen liege. "My men...are yours...ensure that cretin...Narshen...does not..."

Words failed the dying man then as words failed the emerge from his moving mouth; although fear had captured his eyes since the blow, a calm understanding took hold then as Erik's vision faded to nothing. The man's eyes closed then as his hand fell limp to his lap, his lifeblood pouring out onto the now-red earth. With his muscles no longer supporting his weight, Erik slumped forward, his forehead thumping as it hit the ground before his body naturally flattened out under the weight of his armor. A pool of red blood formed under the body as his men looked on with looks of despair.

Off in the distance, Mark watched with an impassive expression, his eyes never betraying what truly lay in his heart. In his hand was a torch, created with the help of Lugh; the flames flickered beside him, the light bending his facial features and providing a warmth on this oddly cool night. With a cold burst of wind, the torch flickered and died, causing Mark to smirk somewhat.

"And with one final defiant act, Erik of Laus finally loses his twenty year battle..."

* * *

><p><em>And with this, yet another chapter is finished. I apologize for taking so long to update, I have been most busy. Read and review as always, hope you enjoyed it.<em>


	9. Hidden Truths

**Hidden Truths**

_May 3rd, 999 A.S._

_Lycian Fields, Lycian League, Elibe_

_A Day's March From Castle Thria,_

_In the long and tumultuous history of Laus, it is hard to believe that there has only been three battles fought at the gates of Castle Laus. The first, in 51 A.S., was the fabled Siege of Laus. It was the climax of the War of the Heirs, probably the single most devastating civil war in all of Elibe's history. After five years of brutal fighting, the war was ended when the Ostian-Pheraen alliance struck down a coalition of their opponents, led by Thria and Laus. Unlike currently, where Laus and Thria stand on opposite sides of the Lycian political ladder, they were rough equals in terms of strength, more than capable of bringing the fight to Ostia or Pherae single handedly. However, when Ostia and Pherae allied, it caused the western Lycian states to panic. Worde, Ryerde, Thria, and Laus quickly allied and threatened to cut Ostia from its now-leader, Prince Ferenan. Deciding to cut Laus off from the other three, Prince Ferenan waged a massive land battle against Laus' Grand Commander, Crocell. With the splendid victory, he earned the moniker Ferenan the Great._

_His battle is still one of the classics that all battlefield tacticians study to this day and his method of waging war is studied by lords and strategists still. Ironically, none would be able to replicate his efforts against Laus until nearly nine hundred years later when Lord Eliwood engaged Darin's forces in the same spot that we did yesterday. Though not as crippling as a defeat as we granted Erik, a mighty blow was still dealt in what will now be called the First Battle of Laus. And, like father, Master Roy emerged victorious in the Second Battle of Laus._

_However, the most peculiar thing happened. After Master Roy struck down Erik in front of Castle Laus, Laus' men did not engage our forces. Ever the kind one, Roy respected Erik's dying wish and, although stripping the Laus men of their arms, simply sent them into the castle. However, a certain Laus captain - whom I am aware goes by the name of Berran and is the son of a former Laus commander named Bernard - led out a retinue of knights and actually pledged their swords to our cause. Although at a loss, Master Roy readily accepted the extra men and, with that, we may very well have conducted the first battle in history where a side comes out with _more _men than it went in with. I am not one to complain however. _

Mark blew gently on the ink on the pages before him before slowly closing the journal, putting it back into the bag on his back. Astride on a horse that had been lent to him, the experienced tactician had learned long ago how to write neatly on horseback. Although the first few instances had resulted in extremely messy entries, he had eventually mastered the act and was able to write even while galloping!

After the nighttime battle with Erik's forces, Mark had made quick work on reuniting his divided forces; issuing a call to immediately march north, the victorious Lycian force only took time to bandage the wounded and wait for their Laus counterparts, as well as receiving a vital supply of weapons from the Laus armory. Although they were bogged down with the extra weight for a good portion of their ride, Mark had Thany deliver orders to the main force of the army to swing Merlinus' caravans south. After delivering the extra weaponry, Mark then immediately restructured the Lycian army once more; now finally complete with Laus' unusual addition, Mark was able to truly create the three pronged attack he so desired. Although it was near treason to place an Ostian force under a non-Ostian commander, Pherae's unique ties allowed Mark to place Rickard's force under the Pheraen flag. Dividing Laus' forces into Sir Paris and Sir Sain's forces, the Lycian rank and file accounted for almost exactly four hundred and fifty men, the highest number since the initial Lycian force gathered at Araphen.

With newfound power at their backs, nearly all the senior leaders of the army were confident in their chances to toss back Narshen's invading force. Due to local informants spread throughout the Lycian countryside, Lycia's generals knew that they were one step ahead of Narshen; outriders placed the Bern army near Tuscany, a near one-and-a-half day's march from their current location near Thria. Unless Lycia completely halted its march to Ostia, there was almost no chance that Bern would catch them from behind. With the last hostile territory now suppressed and at their backs, Lycia was free to march unopposed and without much worry.

_'At least for the next few days. Then we'll be having the fight of our lives.'_ Mark thought bitterly to himself, scowling slightly and he turned his head away from his charge. Though the fabled strategist put much stock and trust into Roy, he wished to keep as impersonal a relationship as possible, at least for the time being. _'A distant relationship is a relationship that is easier to learn from.'_

In a way, Mark fancied himself as the ultimate facilitator. It was only through sheer skill and a bit of luck that he was able to balance the personalities of his companions twenty years ago. Utilizing the natural affinities and relationships that preexisted along with intuition about who would get along with who, Mark was able to help create a basic net of relationships - some solely in battle as Wallace and Vaida were, others personal and loving such as Hector and Florina. With his stoicism regarding debates as well as his even judgment, many considered Mark to be the ultimate mediator and often came to him to decide arguments or issues; so successful was he in this role that he was one of the sole people within the small army that was able to successfully contain Serra.

Yet, despite all of his accomplishments and experience in the realm of personalities, even Mark was able to admit that he had his hands full with the army's newest addition. Arrogant, childish, and even slightly idealistic, Lady Clarine of Reglay was possibly the most infuriating individual that Mark had ever encountered. Whereas Serra was enamored with her own being and believed she was entitled to special treatment, she was manageable because she knew that she truly wasn't more special than any person around her. Clarine, however, truly believed that she was above all around her, the exception being those her father regarded as being superior such as the king. Immediately upon meeting her, Mark wondered how such a selfish girl could be the daughter of a man like Pent; realizing that the girl had been spoiled all of her life, Mark made a mental note to scold his old friend. Nonetheless, her upbringing and heritage gifted her with the ability to ride a horse as well as use magic, although it was only healing magic at present.

Lady Clarine wasn't the only notable addition the small army acquired, however. When the Etrurian lady had made her escape from Laus, there were two men accompanying her; one was the energetic and young thief that Mark had charged with infiltrating the castle, the other was the man responsible for the trio's escape. Upon meeting the red garbed swordsman, Mark had an instant flashback to the famed Sword Demon; within the youth contained a rage that roared to be released, a beast that clamored to be uncaged. Within his mind, Mark was already formulating how to contain the man that stood before him. Though his eyes shone a raging inferno in his heart, Mark saw a glimmer of protectiveness whenever the man - he gave his name as Rutger - looked towards Clarine. Mark made a mental note of this and made sure to have Rutger fight alongside the mounted healer.

Mark maneuvered his horse off to the side of the small column he was riding in, watching as the Pheraen cavalry rode by impassively. The tactician slowed his horse to a near halt before he heard the familiar clatter of wheels; the man pulled his cowl down from his neck a bit before leading the sorrel horse towards the lead wagon. Waving a hand in greeting, the advisor maintained pace with the wagon, bringing him near eyelevel with his old friend.

"Ah, Mark," Merlinus nodded in greeting, "I have not seen hide nor hair of your...inconspicuous face! How fare you?"

"Hello Merlinus. Pardon my tardiness as of late, it has been most pressing preparing for Laus."

The elder man chuckled, "yet it would seem as if you have drawn the bull into our fold." At Mark's grin, Merlinus shook his head with incredulity, "you will never cease to amaze me Mark. I know not how you do it but by Elimine am I glad you do."

The man in question let go of the reins, waggling his fingers towards his balding companion. "I'm magic Merlinus. Always have been."

"Help! Save me Master Roy, a warlock hides in our midst!" The two men chuckled, looking like a pair of joking schoolboys at that moment. After a few moments, their laughter stopped as the Pheraen retainer looked ahead. "What is our next destination?"

"Well," Mark frowned, "Castle Thria is a short ride away. There have been many rumors of Lord Orun's illness. It would make sense for Sir Paris to visit."

Merlinus raised an eyebrow, "just Sir Paris? Isn't that risky?"

"That's what I was thinking. Ergo, I think it would make more sense if Lord Roy and a small retinue of knights went along as well. But only Pheraen and Thrian knights. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise it'll look like coercion. But surely you won't send all of Pherae and Thria to the castle? That'll compromise our force here, should something happen." Merlinus coughed wickedly then as Mark looked at him with a concerned eye. "I merely caught a speck of dust in my throat, worry not."

"When do I worry?" At Merlinus' shrug, Mark continued, "I was thinking the same thing. Therefore, I think it would be smart if Roy takes his closest retainers, Paris takes his, and we send the mercenaries who are not affiliated with any state. Such as Dieck's men and Lady Clarine."

"You always have a plan! But I shall tell Master Roy when I see him."

"No," Mark raised a hand, "I shall tell him. Besides..." Mark looked towards their young lord's horse, where two figures were moving towards him, "I am interested to hear these newcomers."

With a small wave to Merlinus, Mark started in towards the four mounted men. Though Mark easily recognized Roy and Marcus, he could not identify the other two and figured them to be the two visitors that had been waiting for the Pheraen. After their reunification with the other half of the army, it became known that two figures had come to Princess Guinevere and Lady Ellen; although the two figures refused to identify who they were, the princess let them enter her personal tent nonetheless. It was only after the order to march was given that the four exited and even then requested access to one of the canvassed wagons. Though the robed figures eventually emerged, they immediately set off for the young Pheraen lord.

Making much noise as he drew closer, Mark took in the sights of the two strangers. The one was incredibly feminine looking, his face far too slim for that of a male. After closer investigation, Mark found the man to be a female and a rather homely one at that; with short cropped hair and worn fingers, he figured her to be some sort of warrior or, at the very least, a farmer's daughter. The bluenette, however, yielded much more information. Though messy, his hair was impeccably clean, a sure indication of his relative high standing in society; his fingers were trim and thin, lacking any sort of wear and tear on them - more indication about his position in life. Mark peered at the man's neck, seeing the light blue and white material that poked out from underneath the man's dusty brown cloak; looking at the man's bag, Mark immediately placed him as a member of the clergy - a worn wooden cross hung from the bag, blending in amongst the brown leather.

"Oh, hello Mark," Roy nodded in friendly greeting as the two newcomers looked at Mark warily. "Saul, Dorothy, meet Mark, primary tactical advisor to the Lycian Army."

A noted wave of relief washed over the man's face as he nodded. "An honor to meet you, Sir Mark."

"I am no knight," Mark turned towards Roy, "my apologies for being late. It was important to...organize after our victory."

The priest looked to the green garbed man, "I heard about your victory over Laus - many of your men are talking about the creative battle plan you implemented. It sounds as if you know quite a bit on strategy."

Mark narrowed his eyes at the man. Though he held no hostility towards the Church of Elimine, his near paranoia caused him to raise suspicions at any sort of peculiar activity or word usage. It was very unlike a priest to comment on battle tactics indeed. "Yes, well...what brings you into our camp, Father Saul?"

"Father Saul was telling us how the Elimine Church was investigating the disappearance of the Fire Emblem from Bern."

Mark's head shot up at this, his interest piqued. An avid student of history, the young man had read greatly about the fabled piece of Bern history. Although many of the stories and tales surrounding the jewel were mere myths, Mark was eventually able to confer the truth of the emblem from the Archsage himself. "The emblem is missing?"

Saul nodded, "yes. We believed that it went missing a near three weeks ago. Coincidentally...Princess Guinevere went missing at the same time."

"I understand that you talked to Her Majesty, correct?"

"Correct, S- Mark. Though your knights were most dutiful in their protection of the princess, alongside the Thrian prince, Her Majesty convinced the knights to let us into her presence. There, we ascertained what we thought - Princess Guinevere is in fact in possession of the Fire Emblem."

Roy regarded the two, "will you be leaving to make your report of the situation?"

Saul shook his head, "no. It is not unknown that King Zephiel has made many enemies within the Church, especially many of the archbishops. Although we stay neutral in matters such as this, the Church is...heavily opposed to many of Zephiel's advances. Privately opposed, that is." Saul raised his eyebrows and smiled thinly at this. "As the protector of men, the Church's uttermost duty is the safety of man and if we were to alert the Bern sympathizers of the Princess' location..."

"Then she would become a target." Saul nodded at Mark's words. "What shall you do now then, priest?"

"I discussed this at length with Her Majesty and she is of the opinion that I could stay in her retinue alongside Lady Ellen. Of course, this is entirely dependent upon your decision, Master Roy, being that you are her protector."

"Of course," Roy replied, "such an act is fine with me."

"Most wonderful," Saul grinned, "as a practitioner of the holy arts, I am quite proficient in holy magic and in healing techniques. And my faithful companion, Dorothy here, is very skilled with this bow of hers. We will be sure to protect Princess Guinevere well."

Mark cleared his throat, "actually, if I could make a slight objection..." At the three puzzled looks that followed, he continued, "I propose that your talents would be better served in Master Roy's company. Princess Guinevere is heavily protected by our men and surely, you would be more useful alongside Master Roy."

"Surely, Mark, you are not suggesting that a priest fight in battle?"

Mark looked at the youth before looking to the aging knight behind him, "Marcus, remember Renault?"

The grizzled veteran nodded slowly, "aye. Who does not? A man so full of mystery has never been seen on this earth since that man."

"Renault once said to me 'protectors of the just are fighters of the light'. Surely, Father Saul, the Church does not agree with Bern's course? Now...does it not say in scripture that one must protect the righteous and attack the unrighteous? Would this not be such a case of this?"

The priest looked towards his horse for a moment before nodding slowly, a thin smile spreading over his face. "I do think, Mark, that you are a very well read man and one who understands much about the world. I suppose you could effectively make a case for such a cause."

Mark reciprocated the smile, "very good, Father. Because I do believe it would do us all well if you were to accompany Master Roy and Sir Paris to Castle Thria..."

* * *

><p>Nestled deep within the Kingdom of Bern, the city of Augusta was everything that the eponymous capital was not. Whereas the capital was militaristic and barren, Augusta was ritzy and filled with festivities; Bern was dark and depressing while Augusta was bright and optimistic. Perhaps most notable was that the elites of Bern were military men, while the leaders of Augusta were the privileged nobility. The two cities were day and night, complete opposites of the other yet only stood a half day's march from each other.<p>

Because of the proximity to Bern, many royal processions and events were often held in the much more luxurious Augusta; often times, it would be seen as extremely unusual for a Bern king to host fetes within the capital city. With the majority of Bern's social wealth centered in Augusta, the city was extravagant enough for official state events to be held in the city. It was for this reason that, in light of recent victories within Lycian, Ilia, and Sacae, King Zephiel proclaimed that a great gathering would be held within the Sunset Palace, open to all the lords and ladies of Augusta.

Though the former king, Desmond, often frequented Augusta and even made a temporary residence in the Sunset Palace, King Zephiel was noted for his distaste of the city. Though he visited the city as his position detailed, he very rarely did so out of personal desire and was often forced into the task by his sister. Zephiel's appearances within the city were so out of the ordinary that whenever the king did visit, crowds often drew to watch the mighty King of Bern make his way through the city, visiting the different boutiques and shops within; ironically, these very crowds were the cause of much of the king's distaste about the city, inadvertently brought on by his refusal to come to the city.

It was with much excitement that the denizens of Augusta prepared their shops and plied their services to Master Crawley, the housekeeper of the palace. With such a large event being held at the mansion, many additional hands were required due to the event being too large for the mansion's workers to handle. Lower class men and women alike were hired as caretakers, bakers, barkeeps, and movers to help prepare the castle for the grand fete. Though the hired hands were paid a mere pittance of what the actual caretakers were paid, their wages were still greater than their actual jobs; because of this, workers had lined up outside of the mansion for days, trying valiantly to get Crawley's attention. Despite this, most of the crowd was left without a hand in the fete and they were ultimately left to hear of rumors from the lucky few that had been chosen.

Although the Sunset Palace's mansions were in full force, they were hardly adequate for many of the basic needs of the fete. For this, Crawley hired out many of the local bakers and tasked them with a minimum quota for each store; because all of the bakeries feared having their named forever known as the one that failed to supply King Zephiel with bread and pastries, they worked to maximum efficiency with many stores far surpassing their quota. Nonetheless, by the time the night of the fete drew upon them, Crawley was shocked to discover the pure amount of bread that poured into the mansion. Coupled with the massive amounts of meat, cheese, fruit, and vegetables that Crawley had imported to the mansion, Zephiel's fete lacked no amount of food.

Though the fete officially began five candlemarks past noon, many of the lower nobles arrived well before that time, anxious to make friends with the more privileged nobility and, if possible, with the king's servants. By the time the upper class started to pour in, most of the lower nobles and higher ranking military officials had already arrived; the only noted attendees that were missing were Bern's Dragon Generals, Prime Minister Orer, and the king himself. As the nobles gabbered and mingled with the military men, Crawley held a small bell aloft and shook his hand a few times, the dings silencing most of the crowd. Clearing his voice gently, the ornately garbed man gestured a hand towards the grand doors that led towards Zephiel's personal chambers.

"Lords and ladies of Bern, it is with humble feelings that I greet each and every one of you this evening. It is with great honor that I introduce the hosts of tonight's grand fete."

Behind Crawley, the perfectly carved doors opened, revealing a stairway that quickly ascended upwards. Though carpet was a very rare commodity within all of Elibe, often only owned by the wealthiest of men, it covered every inch of the magnificent staircase, its patterned red and gold weaves matching the gold handrails that flanked the stairs. Though it was near impossible to see the stairway from the reception hall, it was easy to see that within that small room alone was an immense amount of wealth.

"It is with great honor that I bestow upon to you, lords and ladies, the conqueror of the tribes of Sacae and mastermind behind the capture of Araphen, Dragon General Brunya!"

As the sole female Dragon General walked down the stairs, her entrance was met with claps and a few cheers. Though Brunya was relatively disliked by the upper classes of Bern, due to her noted dislike of the nobility, none could question her military prowess; many of the cheers came from those military elite, those who truly respected the great Bern general. Though young, Brunya exemplified the next generation of general and was often the example of young generalship within Bern academies. Though her profession was male dominated, the general curtsied ever so slightly when she passed through the doors, standing beside Crawley before stopping.

"With no undue respect to General Brunya, it is with the utmost respect and admiration that I bring you Bern's greatest general. Finally returned from his triumph in Ilia, leader of the Dragon Generals, the First Knight of Bern, General Murdock!"

Unlike Brunya, whom commanded an air of grace and passiveness, the arrival of Murdock was anything but. Although often silent and in command of his emotions, Murdock carried an air of power about him, a might that seemed to smother all those around him. Although the nobles were cool at best to Brunya, they warmly welcomed the longtime general, loudly applauding his arrival. Although Brunya tried her best to separate herself from the nobility, Murdock was well respected by men and women of all social classes, well loved for both his martial prowess as well as his undying devotion to King Zephiel. Silently tapping his left hand to his right breast, Murdock lowered his head ever so slightly before standing beside his fellow Dragon General.

Crawly raised his hand in the air once more to initiate the still-continuing adoration for General Murdock. After a few more moments, he continued. "Recently arrived from Lycia, it is near impossible for my lowly person to sing this man's praises, let alone welcome him to you. It is my absolute honor to bring to you the Lord of Ilia, Lycia, and Sacae, the King of Bern, His Majesty King Zephiel!"

Almost immediately, the trumpeters that lined the sides of the rooms raised their instruments and blared out the royal procession theme, though no person seemed to notice. All eyes were fixated upon the regal figure that was advancing towards them. To many of the nobles, generals, and common men, they had only seen the king from afar, if at all; to see the mighty King of Bern up close was a marvelous dream for many and for the common laborers in attendance, it would be the greatest moment of their lives.

The King of Bern was truly an inspiring yet terrible sight. Though many of the generals, Murdock and Brunya included, wore regal clothes to dress properly for the event, the king strode out in his mighty armor. Although the king possessed two suits of armor, one for dress and one for battle, it was still an impressive sight to behold. As he passed through the double doors, scarcely able to hear due to the trumpets and the ovation he was receiving, Zephiel raised his hand. Almost immediately, the clamor died down as the men and women hushed themselves and the trumpeters lowered their trumpets as all gave respect and heeded the King of Bern.

Silent for a moment, the king's eyes scanned the ground, looking into the eyes of many in attendance; though absolutely handsome in appearance, the king's eyes were haunted and behind his brown eyes was a constant inner monologue that was never revealed in his words. Nonetheless, as he gazed out of his people, the king flashed a thin smile before raising his head to an appropriate oratory position.

"I speak before you...as a conqueror of people. A liberator of the righteous and a destroyer of the darkness. It goes without saying that Bern is the strongest nation in the world. And the backbone of this country are you men and women. Some of you through financial power, some of you through administrative, and some of you through militaristic means. Yet, regardless of our differences, we are all of Bern and are the children of Hartmut. It is because of our natural superiority that we shall liberate Elibe from the shackles of the past and bring forth a new era, one of Bern dominance of hegemony, unimpeded by none besides the gods themselves."

"Whether it be the mongrels of Sacae, the serfs of Ilia, or the nobles of Etruria, the Bern Army shall conquer, defeat, and destroy all who oppose us. Pride fills our blades and desire pushes us forward, cutting down the armies of Elibe like summer wheat in the field. And as we lay in bed, dying in our old age, we shall look upon these times as the golden years of Bern and proclaim that, by God, this was our finest hour. For it is the strength of Bern that a new time shall be ushered in. With myself as your king, I will bring forth a new era, a new book in the history of mankind. Equal to The Scouring, the rebuilding times, the dominance of Etruria, the Age of Bern shall bring forth a new order, one in which the dragon of Bern shall reign supreme."

Behind the brown eyes, the fire burned brighter.

* * *

><p>Many of leagues away, a very different situation was being observed by the nobility. Convened for the first time since the fall of Araphen, the Etrurian court was filled with rumors as well as tensions. Although it was against Etrurian custom to speak in any sort before King Etruria officially brought the court to order, it went without saying that King Mordred's power was severely undermined within the court. Unlike Bern, where the king reigned supreme, the nobility possessed a significant amount of power within Etruria, where their machinations often heavily influenced royal law.<p>

The pounding of a gavel silenced most of the men, the small few who were talking were silenced soon thereafter. Turning their attention to the front of the room where the king sat, the large oaken throne casting a shadow over his sunken figure. Though the meeting was set to begin a half-candlemark after noon, the lack of the king's attendance forestalled the council until he arrived; it went without saying that King Mordred was fighting yet another of his depressed bouts, wherein he refused to leave the bedchambers of his dear son, the late Prince Mildain. Although it took quite a bit of time, the king was eventually convinced to leave and open court for the nobles.

By the time the king arrived, the nobles had already been conducting court, albeit informally and unofficially; the two opposing sides of the court were already engaged in heated debate when the king entered. Though the nobles were eventually settled enough for the formalities to process, the air was thick with tension.

"As the 38th King of Etruria, I open this court to the meeting of the upper classes of Etruria and the appointed nobles whose duty it is to help guide this nation. Proceed."

A clamor followed the king's words before a call for various speakers emerged; eventually, the drones of the imperialist faction in the court drowned out the others as their official leader, the Count of Phestos, rose to speak.

"It has been a near week since news arrived of Araphen's fall. Though Lycia is naught but a...backwater nation filled with petty fools who think themselves higher than they truly are, their fall is surely perilous for Etruria."

"Perhaps," a young man rose to speak, "it is time that you recognize your shortcomings as lord noble, Count Roartz!"

The mighty count looked to the speaker, raising his eyebrow, "who, may I ask, are you?"

"A representative of Count Caerleon, Count. A man twice the man you are!"

Roartz roared with laughter, casting a red hue over the young representative. "Uwahahahahaha! Truly, what an absolutely foolish young man! You truly believe that Pent's young lackey is a greater man than I? I should have you barred from court, boy!"

"Oh," Arcard spoke from beside the man, "Lord Roartz, please do our ears a favor and do so! Bwahaha!" The laughter from Roartz's followers deepened the redness of the young retainer's blush, causing the few Phestos' opponents that remained to look down at their own notes.

"You...Lord Roartz, you, sir, are far too aware of your power! Arrogance shall doom you!"

This made the older man chuckle even further, dismissively waving the representative away. "Go on now, leave like your shamed master did before you. And his master before him!"

The man, humiliated beyond words, gathered what few papers he brought to the assembly. Bowing his head somewhat, he stood and walked towards the door before it opened. Before Roartz could object to the integrity of the assembly being violated, his attendant wisely bid him not to do so; passing through the double doors were two of the most powerful and influential members of the court. Exiled from the court by the taunts of Roartz, Pent and Erk had returned and between the two wizards, a wicked fire seemed to burn.

"Picard," Erk spoke to his shamed man, "go and return to Caerleon. You have done wonderfully." The man's visage improved then as he looked towards the two counts, nodding as he did so. "Now then...Lord Roartz, shall we officially begin?"

"You...you! You are all...you are not supposed to be here!" Roartz practically shrieked at the men, pointing a long finger towards them. "You were ran out of this place!"

As the two took their seats, wisely beside one another in the midst of what remained of their allies, Pent raised his hand for the janitor to fetch him ink. "Roartz," Pent notably left out the man's honorific, "just because we were outmaneuvered does not mean we have been ran out. In fact, the...reprieve from court has led to a change in scheme for us..._sir_."

Roartz snarled before waving his hand towards the two mages. "Be that as it may, I still control the majority, as you very well know. Nothing you can do can stop me."

Pent smiled thinly, "why, Roartz, I am not trying to stop you. Merely trying to...work with you."

"Do explain, Count Reglay."

The silver haired man raised his hand in front of him in a shrugging motion. "Because it would better benefit the nation of Etruria to have two sides cooperating together instead of one dictating terms to the other."

Roartz looked at Pent then, the older man's beady eyes meeting Pent's wise ones. Though Count Phestos could easily circumvent everything the former Mage General threw at him, he knew it would undermine him later. With a slow nod, Chancellor Roartz shocked the rest of the court. "I agree. Let us not squabble and fight amongst ourselves. Fellow Etrurians, let us work for the good of Etruria!"

The roar of applause from the other nobles led Pent to narrow his eyes towards Roartz. Although he certainly hadn't expected the older man to cave so easily, it made his job easier nonetheless. "My fellows nobles, I feel pressed to address the Lycian issue. With the unfortunate demise of Lord Hector, Elimine bless him, Lycia is bereft of a capable leader. Though Lord Eliwood of Pherae is one of the greatest leaders in all of Elibe, illness has rendered him incapacitated; his son, Roy, has taken up arms at the head of the Lycian Army. This is as much as I know, sirs."

"Pressing indeed..." Roartz frowned. Though his entire policy banked upon staying out of war as much as possible, if Lycia fell then it was inevitable that Etruria would go to war - and would likely lose. Roartz realized that by spurring Ilia and nearly spurring Lycia, he would destroy any possible allies he could make. It suddenly dawned on him that Lycia needed to be saved. "Where is General Douglas, Lord Pent?"

"I believe he is here in Aquleia."

"Summon him immediately. We shall need him to progress with our plans to intervene in Lycia."

"Lord Roartz," a meek noble who rarely spoke in court interjected, "only His Majesty can summon the Three Generals or issue Etrurian military action..."

Erk coughed politely, "besides, Chancellor, I have it on good knowledge that Generals Percival and Cecilia are moving their private armies to Lycia as we speak."

The count's eyes widened at this, fire appearing behind them. "What!? Their actions without the court's approval!? Their very actions are near treasonous! When I discover who is responsible for-"

"Actually, Roartz," Mordred spoke for the first time since opening court, shocking all nearby, "I accepted their request in private counsel. There were none, before Count Caerleon announced thus with his impressive information network, outside of the two generals and I who knew their mission. Not even Douglas is aware. So if you wish to punish the person responsible, Chancellor, then I suggest we meet in private afterwards."

Visibly cowed, Roartz shook his head and bowed slightly. "N-no, of course not Your Majesty. I did not mean...I wasn't..."

No doubt relishing in the sight of seeing Roartz forced back, Pent found the need to interrupt the scene. "Your Majesty, what is the reason behind General Percival and General Cecilia's mission?"

"To march immediately upon Ostia and, among other things, place it under the jurisdiction of the Kingdom of Etruria."

"Lord Pent," Erk whispered to his former mentor as the nobles talked excitedly amongst themselves, "why would it benefit us or Lycia to place Lycia as a protectorate of Etruria?"

Pent regarded Roartz with a wise eye before turning his head, "if Ostia is placed under Etrurian jurisdiction, Bern cannot take it without declaring war on Etruria. It saves the country of Lycia by preserving their capital and stronghold and it allows Etruria to avoid being flanked. Bern would not want to engage in war so early with Etruria and by stalling this, we will be able to build our forces more effectively in the east and north because the Lycian Army will hold our south side."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Roartz raised his hand to silence the crowds as King Mordred sunk once more into his throne. "It goes without question that we must pledge our full support to this preemptive operation that Etruria is undertaking! I believe that we, as the upper class of Etruria, should embrace our duty and put forth all of our assets towards readying for our country to enter war!"

"Here, here!" Arcard raised a fist in agreement.

"Why, Lord Arcard," Erk smugly smiled, "I was not aware that you were going to be donating the majority of your wealth towards Etruria's defense."

"Of course I shall, _Count Caerleon_. I have Etruria's best interests at heart."

Erk placed a hand over his chest then, feigning surprise. "Well, it is good then that you would do such a thing, Viscount Adnot. But I fear as if you will string out your fellow lords...unless, of course, you also give up many of the illegal assets you have taken from your lands in the Western Isles."

A frown formed on the noble's face, stroking his thin bead as he replied. "Whatever do you mean, Count?"

"What Count Caerleon is saying, Arcard," Pent piped in, "is that you have been illegally embezzling funds from the mining operations within your jurisdiction. At least, that is what is evident from the funds that have been flowing into the capital. If your profit is to be believe, your mines are only running at sixty-one percent efficiency."

"In fact, Lord Pent, that is the truth of the matter." At a skeptical look from Pent and Erk, Arcard elaborated. "The rebel forces in the islands are severely hampering my abilities to operate. In fact, some of my mines have been completely disabled or shut down while we deal with the rebels. That is why some of the numbers are so horribly skewed."

"It is as Lord Arcard says. While you were...away from court, Lord Pent, I investigated the lack of materials arriving from the Western Isles. Needless to say, this rebel force has been quite the thorn."

Erk frowned, "if it has been as troublesome as you say, sirs, then why has no formal action been taken?"

"Because, Count," Roartz smiled towards the two mages, "a force is being assembled under the recently promoted General Klein to attack the rebel forces."

Pent could only narrow his eyes at the man in anger.

* * *

><p>Edward stifled a yawn as he walked straight ahead, attempting to keep his eyes as open as possible. Though any knight knew the dangers of being unattentive at their post, few were as tired as Edward felt at that moment. Having fought the Laus knights the previous day as well as marching nearly nonstop since the battle ended, the young knight felt as though he would collapse over in a dead sleep any moment. The only thought that urged him on was his bedroll and being able to curl up inside of it instead of sleeping face first on the cool dirt.<p>

Dragging himself forward, the Caelin knight looked around him to make sure none saw him before nearing a tree. Once again making sure that his allies were not looking his way, Edward sat down briskly, wincing as his body ached in protest; once he was on the ground, however, his back relaxed against the tree as he quickly began to willingly give up the battle against fatigue. Embracing the comforting darkness that began to cloud his world, Edward leaned his lance against his shoulder before nodding off, exhaustion finally overtaking him.

His dreamless sleep was interrupted by a tugging at his hip. Eyes not opening, Edward's hand shot towards his hip, smacking away what he knew was a human hand; eyes snapping open as he grabbed the offending limb and held it outwards. Although the other person yanked their arm back, Edward kept a strong grip around the person's wrist as his eyes adjusted to the night. Eventually, a white form emerged in front of him before the knight shook his head to focus his eyes. The slender wrist he held belong to a smaller girl who looked towards him with eyes of bewilderment and of shock; using his lance as a prop to stand, the Caelin commander frowned at the girl, never releasing her wrist in the process.

"Let me go!"

"No," he hissed, "not before I get why you're going for my gold pouch."

"Because you were sleeping! You're easy pickings...Let go!"

Edward frowned before shoving the thief's arm towards her, "be gone thief, before I bring you before my lord and he strings you up."

The girl eyed the knight before pointing a thumb behind her. "Your lord wouldn't have happened to have gone that way, would he?"

Although his father had taught him to never reveal information related to their lord to an enemy, the girl was far too open and loud to be a spy; Edward raised an eyebrow as he began to wake up further. "And what if it was?"

"Then," the girl rubbed her wrist gingerly, "you may be serving a new lord soon."

The knight made no effort to hide his lance as he moved it from his shoulder; watching as the girl eyed the weapon, he pressed for more. "Speak further."

"A few days ago, the man named Wagner - I believe his name was - murdered the Thrian marquis and is planning on aligning himself with Bern."

"How do you know all of this? That's quite a bit of information for a..." he eyed her, "thief."

The girl stuck her nose in the air indignantly. "I'll have you know I only steal from the rich!"

"And you consider a knight that is sleeping against a tree to be rich?"

She reddened then as he inwardly smiled to himself. "Well...I wasn't able to swipe anything from that dang castle!"

"Oho! So the truth emerges! You were snooping around like the common crook then." Although he was completely aware of his surroundings, Edward let himself relax slightly. The girl seemed absolutely harmless, though he still took notice of the small blade at her hip.

"The only crooks are the nobility, stealing from the poor to fill their own pockets!" At Edward's bemused expression, she continued, "but I was indeed in the castle when I overheard two guards speaking amongst themselves about what that man had done. If your lord is seeking room there..."

No more needed to be said as Edward nodded. Silently reaching down to his pouch, the knight pulled out a small silver piece. With a small smile, Edward held out the coin towards the teen, who regarded him cautiously. "Thank you for your information Miss...?"

The girl walked towards him before taking the silver piece, pocketing it as she did so. "Cath. Why are you rewarding me for almost stealing from you?"

"I really shouldn't be, in fairness. But if you help us save our lord's life...then you should be rewarded."

"Er...well...bye!"

With that, the girl turned heel and fled, her white form quickly disappearing in the Lycian knight. Edward sighed before running his hand through his hair, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "I suppose I should go tell Master Mark..."

"No need," a voice behind him stated, "I already heard."

"Mark," Edward turned, "I was not aware you were this way."

"I heard speaking so I investigated. I have a certain...knack for going unnoticed."

"Shall I go and rouse the army, sir?"

Mark chuckled, "I keep telling you all not to call me sir and yet, everyone forgets. No matter. Don't worry young Edward...I accounted for this possibility long before this girl stumbled upon you..."

* * *

><p>Wagner smiled wide and held his arms out, chuckling as he did so. Before him stood the chosen guests of Thria, the leaders of the Lycian Army. Though he had been busy taking his fair share of the treasury when the group had arrived, he made himself quickly appear after hearing that his guests were some of the lords of Lycia. By all accounts, Wagner could only bless Elimine herself that his plan had fallen exactly into place. His coup had went off without a hitch whatsoever, the Sacaen girl was looked in a room that only he and his second visited, Lord Orun had died quietly, and by all appearances, this had all gone unnoticed. Due to his shrewd financial policies, Orun had stocked quite a bit of coin in the Thrian coffers in the event of emergency; Wagner had withdrawn a fair amount from the treasury and, declaring it to be in the best interest of the state, had 'compensated' the guard for their undying loyalty towards Wagner.<p>

As soon as he had consolidated the guards' loyalty to him, Wagner immediately opened talks with General Narshen. Sending a messenger to the Bern Army's camp, Wagner offered terms of surrender to the general. The reply came quickly on wyvern, informing the ambitious steward that upon the arrival of the Bern Army, he would be quickly rewarded with Castle Thria as well as a score of knights to complement his own guard. Alongside the reply came news of Hector's failure, alongside the fall of Araphen; with this piece of information, any fears Wagner held went out the window. Though the Lycian Army had reassembled under the son of Eliwood, Wagner knew that the boy held no chance against Narshen and the superior force of Bern.

"Greetings, Lord Roy!" Wagner bowed low, trying to hide the deviousness in his smile, "it is truly an honor to bring you to Castle Thria!"

The Pheraen lord smiled gratefully, "thank you..."

"Wagner, sire."

"Thank you, Wagner." Roy nodded towards the advisor, "I trust that Lord Orun is well? I have heard that he has fallen ill of late."

"Ah, yes, terrible illness...he has been bedridden for weeks now." The elder magic user clapped his hands, smiling wider. "I understand that you and the Lycian Army are camped by the castle, correct?" At a nod, Wagner continued. "Do you wish for me to make accommodations for your army?"

"No," Roy shook his head, "I have ordered my commanders to camp the army a few miles west of the castle, if that is acceptable and will not burden Lord Orun's people?"

_By the gods,_ Wagner thought, _the brat has played this perfectly! All I need to do is make sure to summon the guards to the rooms around this and he'll be in the palm of my hand..._ Wagner was practically giggling with joy but contained his tone. "Of course not! I am sure Lord Orun would not mind a bit!"

"Wonderful, I shall be sure to bring it up when I speak to the marquis," Roy looked towards his men, all of whom Wagner saw were either Pheraen knights or mercenaries. "Might you direct me to his chamber?"

"Forgive me Lord Roy," Wagner shook his head vehemently, "but I cannot allow that!"

Roy's eyes narrowed at this as Wagner gulped. "What do you mean cannot allow?"

"Er," Wagner's eyes frantically darted around the room, "I mean merely that My Lord's sickness is extremely contagious! I wouldn't wish for you to catch that vile disease and Lord Orun would be most cross with me if I allowed Lord Roy to contact his sickness!"

Roy nodded slowly for a moment, "if Lord Orun's sickness is as nasty as you say it is, then indeed, I do not wish to acquire it."

Wagner nodded slowly, a smile forming on his face. "Please, Lord Roy, refreshments for you and your men?"

The Pheraen lord nodded, "thank you. And only the men who look battle hardened are the men I lay claim to. Sir Wagner, allow me to introduce you to Father Saul of the Elimine Church and Miss Dorothy, his companion." Saul cupped his hands together and bowed his head slightly as Roy motioned to his left. "And Princess Guinevere of Bern and her attendant, Lady Ellen."

_Elimine smiles upon me today! Not only has she given me the Pheraen brat but the Princess of Bern as well!_ "My Lady it is an honor and a blessing to be graced by your presence."

The Bern princess smiled softly, "it is touching to hear such kind words during a terrible time such as this."

"Yes, I heard about Araphen...such a shame that such valiant men - Lycian and Bern - had to perish..."

Saul politely coughed as Wagner looked towards him; as Wagner began to respond, Saul cut him off. "Master Wagner, how have you come upon the knowledge that Araphen has already fallen? By all accounts, the only men who fought at Araphen are either in Lord Roy's army or are in General Narshen's."

_Hell hounds! Watch your tongue, Wagner! _"There was a...mighty rumor that has abounded Thria as of late, carrying news of Araphen's fall. Although I believed it to hold no merit, I suppose I am one of the few that is pessimistic in this world and believed it to be true."

"Master Wagner," Roy started, "although you are Lord Orun's chosen representative, you would do well to remember your role and to respect the wishes of your lord and cease gossiping about state secrets. It would be...very detrimental."

"Of course, Lord Roy. Forgive me if my words poorly reflect my master's personal desires."

"Forgive me if I seemed too harsh," Roy smiled softly, "I merely wish to conserve what little remains of the League. Now, Master Wagner, if it would not be too much to ask, could rooms be prepared for my companions?"

"Of course Lord Roy." Wagner turned towards an attendant and loudly commanded him to prepared rooms for Roy's men. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Roy looked towards the ornate ceiling for a moment, "yes, I would like to see Lord Orun. I understand that he is ill," Roy held a hand to quiet Wagner's objections, "but I would like to see him nonetheless."

"Lord Roy," Roy turned towards Ellen, "if you would not mind, I could examine Lord Orun. I have quite a bit of knowledge of disease."

"This is true," Guinevere chimed in, "Ellen is quite the student of medicine."

"Do not take offense Lady Ellen, but I am afraid such a suggestion would not be...the wisest." Realizing he had spoken out of line once more, he hurriedly caught his words. "By that I mean, I do not wish for you to become ill and threaten to expose Her Majesty to this illness..."

"I understand the methods that diseases are spread. I would take the necessary precautions, Master Wagner."

"I am sorry milady, but I simply do not wish for such horrid illnesses to be exposed to you. What would ever happen if you were to succumb to the disease?"

"Oh..." Ellen looked dejectedly downwards, "I apologize milady."

Guinevere looked at her friend with a smile. "Take no heed Ellen, it is perfectly understandable."

"Lord Roy," Saul looked towards the Pheraen as their knights moved behind them, "if Lord Orun is as ill as Master Wagner says, then we should tell Lord Hector after we arrive in Ostia."

Roy nodded, "indeed. Lord Orun and Lord Hector are brothers. I'm sure Lord Hector would wish to know of his brother's health."

"Lord Hector is in Ostia!?"

Roy regarded Wagner calmly, "why, yes. Why wouldn't he be?"

"Lord Hector died at Araphen!" Instantly, Wagner realized he had made a very fatal mistake.

"Why," Saul looked to Roy, "I do not believe we have said such a thing, have we Lord Roy?"

"No Father Saul. In fact, I am curious as to where you gained such information Master Wagner."

"Well," Wagner looked around the room furiously, "you were all at Araphen! You should know that Lord Hector was felled in battle! By the King of Bern!"

"More rumors?" Dorothy cocked her head to the side.

"Why, every man in Thria is speaking of Lord Hector's valiant stand against Zephiel!"

"Odd," Guinevere looked towards Wagner with a curious look, "I have not heard of such speak and we have been across all of Lycia."

Saul nodded. "Indeed Princess. We as well and no word of Lord Hector's death has come up."

Wagner babbled, "why, a survivor of Thria must have brought the news home..."

"Impossible," a voice came from behind Wagner who turned on his heel, "all of my men are in the Lycian encampment."

With a look of abject horror, Wagner stared as Paris of Thria strode into the room from a side chamber. Behind him, the Sacaen girl Sue followed, wisely remaining silent. "L-L-L-Lord Paris!? You are alive!"

The heir of Thria nodded slowly, staring at his mortal enemy. Paris could see the terror in Wagner's eyes and he smiled in response. "Yes. Yes, I am. You didn't calculate me being alive, did you Wagner? Nor did you calculate that there would be survivors at Araphen."

"Lord Paris, this is a misunderstan-"

"And my father's cold body in his bed is a misunderstanding!?" Paris' voice boomed throughout the chamber as Wagner cringed. "Tell me, Wagner, was it worth it!? Was it worth dooming yourself and your man to death!? Was it worth murdering your own liege lord, your own friend!? Was the power worth it Wagner!?"

The man snarled then, barking out in feral anger. "Silence, you damned wretched man! I toiled my entire life to you and your damned father's service! To hell with you, Paris! I spit on your name and on your father!" Wagner raised his hands then, a dark energy gathering in them. An ancient incantation was chanted as Paris moved forward, drawing his sword as he did so. Wagner grinned then as he knew his mighty blast would strike first - at least, so he believed.

A splash of white knocked the ball of darkness off to the side, where it splashed against the marble floor harmlessly. With a look of terror, Wagner could only watch as Paris' blade pierced his belly, exiting from his back as Paris drove even further forward. With a roar of fury, the Thrian prince cut his sword to the right, spilling the traitor's blood onto the white floor. As the blood poured out over the marble, Paris couldn't help but be reminded of the dried red spots on his father's pristine sheets.


	10. Cogs of Fortune

**Cogs of Fortune**

_May 4th, 999 A.S._

_Lycian Fields, Lycian League, Elibe_

Within the heart of Lycia, the Ostian province of Caelin stood steady. Though around them in Araphen, Laus, and Thria had fallen whether to internal strife and external invaders, Caelin remained as strong as it always had. Though not the first Lycian state one thought of, Caelin had fostered a legacy of fortitude and bravery that not many could surpass. Especially in recent memory with the late Marquis Hausen, Caelin had been a significant player in Lycian politics, though not for the best of reasons. Although a respected house, Caelin was not a truly significant part of Lycian courts until the issue of succession emerged with the illness of Hausen. Though the issue would be resolved with the discovery of the Lady Lyndis and the death of Lundgren, Caelin was placed in the center of Lycian minds.

Shortly after the death of Hausen, Lyndis ruled Caelin as her own. Ruling for three years after the death of the former marquis, Lady Lyndis suddenly abdicated to Lord Hector and left for the Sacaen plains, accompanied by her dearest friends. Though Sir Kent and Lady Florina eventually made their return to Lycia, many could not feel as if a small piece of them had left alongside Lady Lyn. Though Kent was granted the stewardship of Caelin and Florina gave birth to the Lady Lilina, the way of life in Caelin was definitively affected. Although the new generation of kids would not know who Lady Lyndis was, the men and women who were affected by her short time in Caelin were.

Many in Caelin could not help as though they were reliving that moment. Although Lady Lyndis' departure was significantly more happy than the recent news that arrived from Araphen, the general mood was the same. A time of grieving commenced before life continued; though life rolled on for many in Caelin, the lives of many people within the small Lycian domain were irreparably ruined. Although Caelin certainly fared better than other Lycian states, such facts did nothing to console the grieving families and friends of those who had lost loved ones.

Since the arrival of the news from the passing Lycian Army, the mood within Castle Caelin had been stifling. Though the arrival of Sir Stephen and many of the wounded brought more than a few smiles, the somberness that hung in the air was impossible to miss. Although many were grieving within the castle, perhaps none affected it as much as Lady Fiora. Stricken with grief and depression after learning of her only son's fate, the former mercenary's sobs could be heard through the castle. Though Steward Kent attempted to console his wife, his own attitude hardly improved matters. Somber and sullen, the Crimson Shield had set himself upon his tasks diligently and with much anger. Driving himself beyond the point of exhaustion, the Caelin knight began to disappear for longer periods of the day.

Due to the lack of knights within the castle, the training grounds were often empty and deserted, sparingly seeing a visitor. However, since the arrival of the Lycian Army, two men had found themselves within the grounds every day - one of them training, the other watching. Although neither ever said a word to the other, it was a silent vigil, one that both men needed whether they realized it or not.

The smack of wood against wood reverberated around the small grounds, a loud pop that would likely attract the attention of other knights any other day. The smack was followed by another then another before all one could hear were the wood-on-wood collisions; eventually, the sound died down as the knight swinging the training blade pause, breathing heavily. Walking towards the other knight, the training knight sat beside him on a wooden bench, his eyes downcast towards the dirt of the grounds.

Stephen gave a small glance towards Kent, before grunting. At the look that returned, the wounded knight spoke for the first time that night. "Yuh swordsmanship is a wonduh, suh."

The Crimson Shield looked at the veteran knight for a moment before smiling softly, his head shaking. "I am but a shadow of my former self. A few simple swings like this would take me hours before I would feel it...now, I am gassed afterwards. Shameful, is it not?"

"No, suh," Stephen shook his head, "yuh are just not the physical specimen yuh used ta be."

Kent sighed, "were it not for this injury, I would be. For almost ten years I have struggled with it, unable to perform what was once second nature to me."

"If yuh don't mind me askin', what happened ta yuh, suh?"

"I was once leading the squires out to the field along with Sain, teaching the men how to master fighting from horseback. From a lack of foresight, I led the men too far west and forgot to secure our area beforehand." Kent looked upwards as he reminisced, "although I have made an effort to eliminate Caelin of all the bandits, during these times, they were far more prevalent than they are now. The bandits during those times were often made up of former soldiers or mercenaries. We strayed too close to the forest during that exercise and..."

"The scum attack yuh?"

Kent nodded, "essentially, yes. They belonged to one of the more dangerous groups at the time, led by many former Laus soldiers. They were so dangerous because they possessed skills that many normal bandits do not, including having horses. So when we strayed too close to their territory..."

"They attacked?" Stephen tugged at his enormous beard, his kind eyes looking towards Kent.

"Indeed. We were beset upon immediately by their horses...Sain and I rallied the squires and ordered them to flee to the castle and in that, blessed God, we succeeded. Sain and I remained behind to buy them some time, for they were not completely competent on horseback like he and I were."

"Steward Kent," the grizzled man looked towards his leader, "yuh and Commanduh Sain held them off on yuh own? That's suicide!"

"Ah, but it wasn't, not during those times!" Kent chuckled for the first time in four days at this. "Not to sing my name more than I should but Sain and I...we were two of the greatest horsemen around. Why, I daresay the only two men more skilled than us were Sir Marcus and Lord Eliwood and to be compared to them is an honor!"

"Nonetheless," he continued, "Sain and I held the rearguard. As we were riding back and forth, ensuring that none got past us, one of the younger squires rode back out to assist us. Stupidly though bravely. As soon as Sain saw him he ordered the young man back and although he listened...he was definitely in the thick of it."

"How did yuh get 'im out?"

"By fighting towards him. We eventually managed to contain the enemy from pursuing before..."

"Before what, suh?"

Kent grimaced for a moment, rubbing his lower back in remembrance. "A stray arrow pierced me in the back. I instantly felt my limbs go number and I nearly fell out of the saddle; somehow, someway, I held onto my blade and parried an incoming sword blow. By then, the grunts were storming out from the forest and though we had taken out most of the horsemen, there was no possible way for us to continue. With what I had left, I nudged my steed to the left and Sain covered me. As soon as we got back to the castle, I fell from the saddle and blacked out from the pain."

"Luckily," Kent continued as he stretched his shoulder, "an old companion of ours was visiting the castle at the time. She managed to pull the arrow from my back and heal the worst of the injury. I have no doubt that were she not there, I would have lost the use of my legs. Regardless, though she gave me the ability to walk, the pain from during so is so great that I am unable to take the field like I once had."

"Forgive me for askin' yuh, suh. Jus' that no e'er speaks o' it."

"It is fine..." Kent waved a hand before raising the silver sword in his hand, "I cannot imagine why. I guess people believe I'm sensitive but I've come to terms with it long ago." The two sat in a rather uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Kent nodded towards Stephen's arm, which rested in a sling. "How'd you injure your arm?"

The wounded knight regarded his arm with a sad smile. "Well, suh, we was fightin' them Bern bastuhds and in the first attack, I got me arm struck by a stray jav'lin. Done pierced me arm and Commanduh Sain ordered me ta the castle."

"I trust you'll be able to fight again one day?"

"Steward!" Stephen knocked his good arm against his chest, "o' course I will be!"

"Good. Because something tells me that you'll be forced to defend Lycia once more..."

* * *

><p>"Your father treated me very kindly."<p>

Paris regarded the Sacaen girl beside him with a kind look. The girl had been discovered by the Thrian prince when he had entered the castle. Mark had been precise in his instruction to have Paris sneak into the castle, as opposed to be received by Wagner and his men. Though Mark had initially assumed all was well within Thria, it was Paris himself who voiced possible concerns over the state of Thrian affairs; working a plan out alongside Mark and Roy, Paris had decided to sneak through the hidden back entrance of Castle Thria, a getaway known to no one besides the Thrian marquises and their family.

Upon his entrance into the castle, the young man had headed immediately towards his room where his personal effects were. He had decided to wait out the candlemark between Roy's reception and Paris' unveiling of himself and all was fine until he entered his personal chambers. He discovered the Sacaen girl, Sue, in the room where it had been unused since his departure to Araphen. Although initially surprised, a short talk with the girl had quickly turned the plan on its head. Accompanied by Sue, Paris easily dispatched the man standing guard before his father's chamber; entering alone, Paris emerged and immediately thanked the girl before confronting Wagner, joyously claiming the traitor's life with his blade.

Though the short time since the discovery of his father's death had been busy, it had bothered Paris nonetheless. Sue, perhaps sensing this, had attempted to strike up conversation multiple times. Although Paris had ignored her as many times, he appreciated the effort nonetheless.

"Did he?" The prince almost smiled as he saw the glimpse of surprise on Sue's face.

She nodded, "yes. Lord Orun treated me very courteously. Every need was taken care of as Lord Orun even volunteered to assist me in my goal. He and I would talk all hours of the day, only interrupted by Wagner."

"Damned snake..." Paris' lips raised before he regarded the teen, "may I be allowed to inquire what your goal is, Lady Sue?"

"I am the granddaughter of the Silver Wolf of the Kutolah." At Paris' widened eyes, she continued. "When Bern attacked Sacae, my grandfather led the tribe in defense of it, alongside the other tribes of Sacae. However..."

"Bern defeated you?"

Sue shook her head. "No. Sacae defeated itself." A questioning look from Paris caused her to explain. "An old saying of Hanon goes that when the tribes are united, Sacae shall rise - but when they are divided, Sacae shall fall. A rival tribe of our tribe, the Djute, betrayed us to Bern. They opened the city walls of Bulgar in the midst of night to Bern. Many of the more peaceful tribes were instantly slaughtered...Grandfather and Father tried to rally the Kutolah but..."

"It was too late?"

"Yes," Sue nodded sadly, "my father was engaging Bern forces when a stray javelin killed Tormac, his horse. Although he got to his feet and continued to fight the Bern soldiers..."

Paris looked at the girl, who stared stoically forward. "I am sorry, Lady Sue."

"My father died as a warrior. I am not sad because he died protecting the people he loved. Besides, after Mother died," Sue smiled sadly at Paris, "he was so very upset. Father Sky and Mother Earth have made him happier."

"Nonetheless," she continued, "by the time my father had fallen, it was clear that we were not going to win. Though we managed to push the Bern soldiers out of Bulgar temporarily, there was no way we'd be able to do it again. Our greatest swordsman, Guy, took two of his men and stood outside the main gate to the city. For over three candlemarks he fought off the Bern invaders while we fled the city - I later heard that the enemy general had given him a funeral pyre, as our custom dictates."

"The general in...charge of Sacae is the Dragon General, Brunya. From what I know of her, she is a very chivalrous person."

"Perhaps. Father Sky was pleased by the respect she showed our dead. We continued our fight but...during the aftermath of one of our raids, I was separated from the clan. I eventually wound up in the custody of mercenaries, who were travelling west." Sue patted her mare's head. "During one night of drinking, I seized my horse, along with some other of their possessions, and fled west. My mother had lived in Lycia for some time and I knew that if I proved my heritage, I could gain asylum from one of the marquises."

Paris regarded her, "your mother must have been quite the powerful woman."

"She was the daughter of a marquis. Her name was Lyndis."

"You are Lady Lyndis' daughter?" At a nod from Sue, Paris lowly whistled. "No wonder why my father was so anxious to help you. Every person in Lycia adored Lady Lyn."

"That is what Lord Orun said. He also said that shortly before me, another man of my clan had passed through looking for me. I must find that man."

Paris nodded slowly. "In memory of my father, I shall take over his attempt to assist you. In these times, Lady Sue, it would be much safer for you if you stayed with us."

"Understandable. Thank you."

The two continued to talk as Roy watched from horseback, a slight frown set on his features. Though the Pheraen lord had understood that Wagner was a deceitful traitor, he was unsure as to the resulting death that the man suffered. Such brutality was something Roy, though he knew it was necessary at times, truly did not have a stomach for.

"Master Roy," the ever faithful Marcus was by his side once more, "is there something wrong?"

"No Marcus." Roy shook his head before shrugging. "Actually, there is. Why could we not have taken Wagner custody, tried him as a criminal, and then sentence him to hang?"

"What good would that be, Master Roy? Wagner would have still perished and justice would have been served."

The young man frowned again, "it'd be a fair trial, one in which he had a true chance of living or dying. It would be lawful."

"Master Roy, forgive my tone but," Marcus tugged on his beard, a habit of his, "did Lord Orun have a fair trial?"

The redhead sighed, "no. I know what you're saying Marcus, I just...I wish that death was not so needlessly thrown about."

"Mmm. Do you remember what I told Master Roy after returning to Pherae?"

"I remember Marcus, you don't have to knock into my head again." The noble chuckled as his retainer smiled fondly. "I just have such distaste for unnecessary violence. Surely, there are times when the only way to stop force is with force but..."

Marcus nodded, "it is understandable, Lord Roy."

"I am weak. I am not worthy of leading this army."

"Master Roy, do not say such things. You have received tutelage from some of the greatest minds in all of Elibe and swordsmanship from some of the greatest swordsmen in all of Lycia." Marcus cleared his voice softly, "you are more than worthy, sire."

Roy looked passively over towards the veteran knight before falling silent for a few moments. "Did my father have this problem? With dealing out violence?"

"Why," he smiled, "Lord Eliwood was just like you! In fact, he was even more, dare I say, bone headed! I only had to rap you twice on the head with my scabbard before you understood! For Lord Eliwood it took many more than that!"

"Really? I find it hard to believe that my father would be so...stubborn."

"With all respect towards Lord Eliwood," Marcus began, "he was quite possibly the most infuriating student I've ever had, Master Roy! Why, his swordsmanship was divine, the best I've ever seen! Intelligent as a whip, caring like a newborn's mother...yet, he absolutely refused to deal death!"

"Surely Marcus, Father was not faced with it very often?"

The Pheraen knight shook his head in disagreement. "On the contrary, he was in the field often. You see, although Pherae is largely devoid of bandits now, it was quite a different story all those years ago. Though many of us knights were never in true danger, the same could not be said of the villages. Although our campaign mostly ceased about five years ago, that was because it was a nearly forty year campaign."

He continued, "Nonetheless, Lord Eliwood often took the field against those blackhearts and performed extraordinarily well. However, he never took a life."

"Against bandits? How?"

"Through excellent swordsmanship. He would engage, defeat, and then disarm the enemy before imprisoning them."

Roy looked over curiously at Marcus, "when was the first time he took a life?"

"I remember it vividly." Marcus tugged on his beard again, causing Roy to smirk ever so slightly. "A group of brigands had seized a group of young children and held them hostage, demanding ransom for them. Though we managed to subdue the rest of his cronies and take most of the children back, the leader personally had a little girl with him. He taunted your father mercilessly, knowing that Lord Eliwood was not a killer. When the man put a knife to the girl's neck...your father struck out with his blade, piercing the man's heart."

"How did he react?"

"Lord Eliwood was stricken with grief, inconsolable for days. Though Lord Elbert tried to bring his spirits up, it was only until the little girl and her father came to thank him that Lord Eliwood began to understand the necessity of taking a life."

"Marcus," Roy spoke, "how old were you when you killed a man?"

"Older than you, Master Roy. I was still a squire at the time. The knight I was learning under had fallen from his horse in a battle." Marcus' eyes looked off to the distance and he reminisced, "I rode over to his side and dismounted, helping him to stand. As I was helping him, a mercenary had come over and attempted to cut us both down. In those days, taking a knight's head would fetch a handful of silver; I drew my blade and parried the man before I stabbed him in the neck. That was a long time ago but I still remember how surreal it felt."

"Have you ever gotten used to it?"

The paladin opened his mouth to respond before closing it, a hard set expression on his face. Slowly, he shook his head in the negative. "Used to the act? Perhaps. But used to the feeling? No."

Roy nodded slowly, "I hope I don't become used to it..."

"Don't worry Master Roy," Marcus allowed a small smile, "all of you Pheraen marquises are too good for that."

* * *

><p>Over the expanse of Lycia, the rest of Pherae was dealing with its own predicament. Due to its relatively proximity to Araphen, word arrived in Pherae of Araphen's fall before it reached other Lycian provinces. As such, feelings were low within the prestigious Lycian state, due to a number of factors. Perhaps most understandably was the location of Pherae on the outskirts of the Lycian territories; standing precariously on the shared border between Berna nd Lycia, Pherae was one of the first lines of defense against the eastern kingdom. When it became known that the Kingdom of Bern had declared war and set out against the League of Lycia, many within Lycia expected and even planned for the fall of Pherae. Remarkably, though not entirely unsurprising due to Pherae's illustrious history, the little mountainous dukedom remained relatively untouched. Although border skirmishes were common and happened often, Pherae experienced a general peace.<p>

Despite the lack of violence, the war had a profound effect upon Pherae. The villages that dotted the Pheraen countryside slowed trade and became much more self-sustaining than before, their inhabitants fearing a massive Bern onslaught or raiding parties. Town militias were constantly on high alert, manning their village walls nearly around the mark; so vigilant were the watchmen that more than one incident had occurred where an innocent traveler had been injured by an overzealous protector.

The guardians of the realm, the remnants of the Order, fiercely patrolled the areas immediately surrounding Castle Pherae. Outriders made almost constant rides to and from the borders and outlying towns, reporting their news back to the keep before setting out once more. Though exhausted with their constant movements, not a man complained or attempted to shirk their duties; they did not do such out of chivalrous duty but out of necessity, a primal sense of need that the current times had pressed onto them.

As commanders of the Knights of Pherae, the veteran knights of the Order often found themselves within different areas of Pherae, spread thin and unable to control every situation. Veteran warriors who had not been knighted like Wil and Dart found themselves commanding hardy militiamen and squires, attempting to make up for the lack of experience within the remaining knights. They found themselves overwhelmed as well, unable to overcome the massive burden that rest on the hearts of all of the people.

In truth, the only event that could save Pherae from eating itself from within was the revival of Lord Eliwood. The Marquis of Pherae had refused all visitors to his quarters for the past few days, leaving many to believe that the great man had finally given up his will to live. Despite all assurances from Eliwood's closest confidantes, many both within and outside the castle believed that the reaper had come for their lord.

Many of Lord Eliwood's closest friends found themselves gathered together in the main hall, an odd occurrence due to the times. Although they were not all servants under the Pheraen noble, they all served him as if they were; all companions and former comrades-in-arms of the Campaign of Fire some twenty years prior, there was no other man or woman they would trust more, besides a former comrade from the unknown war.

"Dart," Lowen lightly nodded towards the former pirate, "thank you greatly for all of your help these past few days. Yours as well Wil. It could not have been done without you."

Wolt's father nodded in return, a tired but boyish grin forming. "Of course Lowen. We're all Pheraens of course!"

"Aye, ye be right 'bout that 'un!" Dart ran a hand through his hair, temporarily removing his worn bandana. The militia captain had taken on possibly the most ambitious assignment, leading his hardy men on a four day trek through the unforgiving mountains that hemmed Pherae's east border. "Though, I won't be complainin' when I get me some grub in me belly!"

"Of course! That's why I simply demanded you all come here to the castle! Although I cannot adequately thank you for all that you have done to help," Pherae's sub-commander wrung his hands with joy, "I can definitely give you a good meal as a start!"

Dart and Wil's faces visibly lit up at this, causing Rebecca to sigh in annoyance. "Well, why didn't ye say so, ye old wardog!? Cap'n Dart knows how to work up an appetite, ye know?"

The former comrades all laughed at this, knowing well of Dart's voracious appetite; during the campaign twenty years prior, it was often said that without Dart, Hector, and Bartre, the small army would have used less than a quarter of the foodstuffs they did use! However, if there was any chef equal to the task of satiating Dart's rumblings, it was Lowen of Pherae; with nearly twenty years of culinary experience under his belt cooking for some of the largest stomachs in all of Lycia, Sir Lowen had long learned how to make a meal go a long way.

Within short order, the knight had an ornate meal set out amongst the private hall. As it was in all castles, Castle Pherae had two dining halls: one for official dinners and events, one for all other occasions. Due to the limited nature of the meal, Lowen had prepared the smaller hall, setting out the placements for the small group of friends. Due to the late mark that they were eating at, there were no servants present; for that reason, the only members joining the dinner were the Pheraen companions.

Watching as Lowen set the large boar down on the table with Harken's help, Dart smacked his lips loudly. "Well, I guess I can't be complainin' bout yer ability to throw down chow!"

"Brother," Rebecca slapped one of Dart's hands as it instantly flew towards the boar, "we're in the castle. Try to use dinnerware, please."

"Bah. I never understood the use of the damned things...why would ye use 'em!? All they do is slow down yer ability to shovel more food in yer gullet!"

Wil chuckled as he took his seat and helped himself to a vegetable dumplings, "because unlike you, Dart, we can't all inhale our food and still be hungry."

"As large as your appetite is, Sir Dart, I daresay that Sir Bartre could eat more food than I've ever seen!" Isadora smiled politely as she accepted a plate offered to her by Harken.

The man in question shrugged, "I don't know about that one. Lord Hector nearly ate an entire lamb here at a state dinner one time!"

"Oh!" Isadora chuckled, "I remember that! He eventually pulled the entire tray over to him because he kept reaching across the table!"

Lowen smiled softly, "Sir Marcus ordered that I immediately prepare another rump if he wanted more. He never got around to eating it though."

"On the contrary...he ate it later that night after you all retired." The voice caused the retainers to turn in shock. The weakened Marquis of Pherae, ailing though very much alive, walked slowly into the dinner hall, smiling at his dear friends. "I smelled your boar Lowen and I simply could not allow myself to pass up on this opportunity."

"Lord Eliwood!" Harken immediately leapt to his feet to assist Eliwood before he was waved off, concern dominating his face.

"I have made it across the entire castle like this, though slowly. I can make it a bit farther." Eliwood shuffled across the room before plopping into his usual chair, a rustic yet comfortable chair that did nothing to indicate his status. "Lowen, would you mind it if I ask you to get me a nice portion of that boar? I've always loved the way you prepare them."

"Of course sire!"

As the knight began to carve into the pig, the rest of the Pheraens looked at their lord with concern. At Eliwood's questioning look, Isadora spoke quietly in reply. "Lord Eliwood, how are you feeling?"

The noble gratefully thanked Lowen before quickly cutting through a piece of the meat; nearly tossing it into his mouth, Marquis Pherae nearly sighed with satisfaction before addressing Isadora's question. "This is the best I have felt in nearly a month. Perhaps longer. I could actually force myself upright last night and, as is obvious, get up and walk around. I am ashamed to admit that I practiced getting my feet under me further. I didn't wish to fall where others could see me - though I definitely did so earlier!"

If the others were worried about the fall, Eliwood's heartfelt chuckle put their fears to rest. Rebecca was the first to speak, "it is good to see you up and feeling better, milord."

Eliwood smiled as the others quickly agreed with the archer. "Yes. It is. But what's better is this boar! Quit worrying about me and enjoy Lowen's meal!"

With that simple statement, the mood in the room instantly brightened; one of the more curious servants went to investigate the laughter that followed shortly after and found his lord up and enjoying life. Within the night, word drifted from the castle that Lord Eliwood was recovering. By the time dawn came, all of Pherae knew that their beloved leader was alive and the paranoia that plagued the dukedom was quickly dispelled by hope.

* * *

><p>Across the great plains south of Ostia, the Lycian Army had paused their march. Although the large host numbered well into the hundreds, the number of fires within the camp did not reflect their numbers adequately. Due to both the limitations of their resources as well as the natural push for brotherhood, many of the Lycian soldiers converged together with one another and acted as brothers. Eating and regaling stories of their past and of their homes, these men began to develop bonds and connections expected of an army's rank and file.<p>

What was incredible, however, was the fact that generations-long dislikes and rivalries were dispelled. Although the differences had been apparent in Araphen with their lords still alive, with Lord Hector's death and their unification under Master Roy's guidance, the men of Lycia bonded together and acted as Lycians, their political and even cultural divides quickly being washed away by necessity. Spurred along by Mark's consolidation of the remaining knights, many of the soldiers kept their former regional crests if only to distinguish themselves for organizational reasons; indeed, there was even popular talk amongst the men of reestablishing the legendary crest of Roland, a lion that differed from Ostia's own standard.

In many ways, Roy had accomplished what was once believed to be impossible. The young lord of Pherae had united the divided territories of Lycia under one banner, a feat that had not been done since Roland. In this, regardless if Roy emerged victorious in his struggle, he would be forever remembered as the man who managed to unite them under his sword. The young lord's natural charisma, honesty, and potential brought hope and devotion to the Lycian faithful; their loyalty to the young master was so great that they would follow him to the last, many of them empowered and moved by the sacrifice of the mighty Lord Hector. The Lord of Lycia's fall was such a moving event that they would not abandon their new commander in his time of need - regardless of what lay ahead.

The young Pheraen noble had no notions of leading his men into peril, however. While the rest of his army relaxed by their small fires, the commander sat out with his maps while a frown sat affixed to his face. His companions, the commanders and tactical advisors for the army, sat close to him, their visual expressions mimicking Roy's own; all eyes peered down at the largest map, one that reflected the city of Ostia and the area surrounding it. Various x's and o's were drawn on the slightly worn parchment, their black markings contrasting greatly to the browns under them.

Although the common rank and file were seemingly overjoyed by the prospect of reaching Ostia, the army's commanders held such feelings at arm's length. In particular, the elder and more experienced commanders such as Mark, Marcus, Sain, and Dieck were the ones with the most verbal trepidations, noting how odd it was that they had yet to encounter any Ostian patrols or visitors from the city. Although it had been rationalized that the city had been closed from the inside from fear of Bern attacks, it did nothing to help the anxiety that the generals felt.

"Rikard," Mark looked to the Ostian captain, "who did Lord Hector leave in charge of Ostia while he was at Araphen?"

"General Leygance. He is one of Ostia's senior commanders, his tenure surpassed only by General Oswin. I know not why Lord Hector trusted Ostia to him..."

"General Leygance is untrustworthy?"

Rikard shook his head at Roy's question, "not so much untrustworthy as ambitious. He has climbed up the ladder through shrewdness and an ability to see openings. He's less like a snake and more like a vulture."

"That may be even worse than if he was untrustworthy. At least with an untrustworthy man, you know what side he's on. With an opportunistic one..."

"You never know what you'll get." Dieck finished Paris' sentence, understanding the age-old saying that an untrustworthy ally is your foe's friend. "What do you think is Leygance's stance?"

"I imagine," Rikard stroked his beard, "he'll be inclined to stay in line with Lord Hector's plans as long as Lord Hector is alive. However, should General Leygance discover that Lord Hector has perished..."

"Then there is no telling what he'll do." The Ostian nodded at Mark. "When the leader falls, so does the snake rear its head..."

"Mark, Lord Roy," Sain spoke up, "isn't it odd that we have not encountered any Ostian patrols? Or for that matter, anyone in general?"

"Oh, good point Sir Sain. I didn't even notice that..."

"Fear not, Master Roy," Marcus nodded towards the suddenly downcast youth, "nor did I." The veteran knight's eyes betrayed his words, however. "One would think that with Lycia at war, patrols would be constantly flowing from the city."

Mark nodded, "indeed. That means one of two things: Leygance has either shut Ostia's doors completely or he is in dealings with Bern."

"Or both."

Sain looked over to Lance for a short moment before agreeing with the young knight, "aye. It'd be quite the...burden if General Leygance is in league with Bern."

"Burden?" Dieck asked, "Ostia is known as the Impregnable Castle. I'd say it'd be much more than a burden."

Roy nodded in agreement, "if Leygance shuts himself up in Castle Ostia and sides with Bern, we'd be crushed against Leygance's anvil and Bern's hammer. We would surely fall."

"Perhaps we should bring the battle to Bern then?"

"What do you mean, Sir Paris?"

"Instead of crushing ourselves in a fruitless attack on Ostia's walls and then being engaged from behind, perhaps we can bring the attack on Bern?" Paris pointed to a spot on the map north of Laus. "We can double back and lay in wait just south of the Laus Mountains. Here, with surprise and terrain knowledge on our side, we can engage the Bern force and attempt to throw it in disarray as well as hopefully render it unable to really march around the countryside."

"It seems a sound plan. I cannot think of one that can serve us better. What do you think, Mark?"

The master tactician regarded his charge for a moment before pinching his lower lip slightly with his thumb and forefinger. A brief moment of silence passed before Mark's calm voice drifted through the air. "We will attack Castle Ostia."

Numerous pairs of shocked eyes looked at the man before Roy mumbled out a reply. "Attack Ostia? But that's madness..."

Mark clicked his tongue, "not quite, milord. There is no such thing as a perfect castle, nor is there such thing as an unassailable keep. Ostia prides itself on the strength of its defense and of its walls, but the truth of the matter is that they can fall like any other stronghold. There is a way around Ostia and there is a way through it. All that matters is when we do it and not how."

Mark retrieved a book from his satchel, thumbing through a few pages before placing it carefully back in the cloth folds. He looked through the maps that cluttered the small table before moving a medium sized map to the top of the stack. What was drawn on the parchment was a detailed plot of Ostia's layout, including many of its notable landmarks, such as the bazaar and the arena; the walls were shown alongside the towers and stairways, granting a good picture of Ostia's defenses.

"Ostia, contrary to popular belief, is definitely not impregnable. It is daunting and it is impressive but it has weaknesses. See this section of wall right here?" He pointed to a section of the Wall of Roland, "Ostia was built against a river, a river that has largely dried up. However, the riverbank and uneven elevation remains. Because of this, we can actually get through the wall."

"Forgive me, Mark," Marcus grunted, "but I do not see how."

"Well, the Marble Corridor is nothing more than a speed bump. In fact, I'd be surprised if it stalled us at all if we can open the gatehouse. But we can get through the Wall of Roland not by going through it...but by going under it." When he was met by confused eyes, he continued. "Because of how heavy the wall is, it will collapse under its own weight if we remove the ground beneath it. To that effect, we will tunnel under it. Remove enough of the ground to allow the top layer of the ground to give away and with it, the wall."

"How would we ever be able to get away with that without being seen?"

Mark looked at Alan for a moment before replying, "that's why we use the difference in elevation between the riverbank and what used to be the riverbed. We will need to distract the attention of the guards but otherwise..."

"We should be able to burrow undetected."

Mark nodded, "precisely Master Roy. This is all dependent on whether Leygance is still loyal to Lord Hector or not. If he is, it should be no problem. If not..."

The appearance of one of the guards caused Mark to shush himself. Eying the man, Roy gave a confirmation to speak; the soldier, perhaps no older than Master Roy himself, saluted sloppily as his sword knocked against his shield. "Master Roy, sirs, there is a man nearby requesting an audience with you. He claims he is in service to Ostia."

"Ostia? Allow him in, please. We will meet him."

"Of course Master Roy."

The guard disappeared into the dark before he reappeared, a dark figure behind him. Stepping aside, the figure stepped forward to present himself. Drawing back his hood, a familiar face awaited a few of the men in the group.

"Matthew?" Sain inquired, follow by a curt nod, "it has been too long."

"Yes, it has. It is good to see you, Sain. And you as well Sir Marcus. Sir Paris, Sir Rikard..." The veteran spy nodded to each man in turn before he settled on the two farthest from him. "Mark...I'm not surprised. I am happy to see you." The two exchanged slight smiles before Matthew turned to the boy to his side. "Master Roy. It has been many years since I have last seen you - it does my heart good to know you are safe and in good health."

"I remember you. You're Lord Hector's man, the one who would stop by the castle every so often."

"Matthew of Ostia, at your service sire." He bent low, before frowning. "I have important news for you and for the Lycian Army."

Roy nodded and offered Matthew a skin of water, "we would hear your news, Matthew."

"Thank you milord," Matthew took the skin gratefully before gulping down a mouthful of water. Sitting on a log beside Sain, the spy began to speak. "First, let me describe the situation within Ostia - it is most perilous and most unstable. General Leygance has betrayed Lord Hector, that much is evident. He has hired men in his personal name and has drawn one of the four Ostian commanders, Sir Devias, into his fold; he has imprisoned Sir Bors in the castle dungeons and has imprisoned Lady Lilina. Furt-"

"Lilina has been taken captive!?"

Matthew looked over to the young lord and nodded slowly, "aye, Master Roy. She is unharmed, so far as we know, but still captive nonetheless. She is at Leygance's mercy. However," Matthew took another quick sip, "while Leygance holds all of the legal power, he does not hold Ostia. There is a rather large number of men who opposed Leygance and support Lord Hector; Sir Barth and Sir Zealot, an Ilian mercenary hired by Lord Hector, lead quite a few number of loyal knights and mercenaries who dislike Leygance. We had the people's support and the legitimacy of the law on our side until..."

"Until what?"

"Until Leygance issued his proclamation a few days ago. He stated that there would be a giant tournament tournament on, well, tomorrow morning. And," Matthew continued, "the prize is Lady Lilina's hand in marriage."

"How can that be?" Roy spoke almost immediately. "Leygance cannot offer his liege lady's hand in marriage!"

"Master Roy," Matthew spoke, "forgive my saying this, but Leygance can do anything he pleases. As long as Lady Lilina is within his grasp, he can say and do anything in her name."

"Including saying he has her blessings..." Sain muttered.

"Sir Matthew," Roy started, "what do you believe we should do?"

Matthew looked at Mark for a moment before the two nodded, Mark seemingly picking up on what the spy was going to say. "Sir Zealot has agreed to send his men one after another in order to attempt to take out Leygance and his four cronies. That was our only plan until, well, Kent alerted one of my agents to your movements across Lycia. Therefore, Master Roy, we believe that our best course of action is for you to send your best...sixty knights or so into the arena alongside Zealot's mercenaries. Meanwhile, I will sneak in those knights as well as any men that do not bear a crest into Ostia, alongside you. Then my associate Astol will bring you into the castle where..."

"Where you shall rescue Lady Lilina." Mark finished. "I'm impressed Matthew. It's a very comprehensive plan. Why, though, do men who don't serve a country are the ones to enter the castle?"

"The only people allowed within the castle are Leygance's mercenaries and the Ostian knights that are loyal to him. If any knight other than his own were discovered..."

"It would ruin the entire plan." Roy nodded, "very well, Sir Matthew. Shall we move camp then and enter the city now?"

Matthew shook his head, "not yet. Early in the morning, when people shall be busy trying to accomplish their tasks before heading to the arena. No one will notice."

"I suppose that this begs the question of who shall enter the arena." Sain looked to the Lycian commander, "your thoughts, Master Roy?"

The young Pheraen pondered the question for a minute, wondering how such a task would be accomplished. Unlike during peacetime, where duels could be constructed, the Lycian Army did not have such a luxury. As such, all judgments were made based on prior performance and common testimony. "Have the squad commanders nominate their top two men. With the number of squads under each arm, we should have enough to enter our men and put a good deal of pressure upon Leygance."

"Yes sir," Sain nodded, "I'll relay the order."

Watching as Sain and Rikard jogged off, Roy turned towards his retainers. "Alan, Lance, you two are to enter. Marcus...see if you can find a suit of armor that is stripped. Merlinus will likely have some spare suits. You are all allowed to leave - rest up for the morrow." The three men rapped their breasts before bowing and exiting the small gathering. The general turned then to Paris, "I suppose you should relay the orders as well. If necessary, you shall act as our base commander in my absence, with Sain as your second."

"Hopefully such measures will not be needed."

Roy nodded as Paris bid farewell to the men remaining. "Dieck," the mercenary perked up, "collect your men as well as the various non-knights we have - Lady Clarine, that swordsman that follows her, Lugh, so on. They'll be alongside us."

"What of Father Saul and Dorothy? They as well?"

"Yes. I suppose having a priest wouldn't hurt our cover."

Dieck bowed low, causing Roy to fidget. "As you command sire."

"Mark, is there anything you'd like to add?"

The master strategist looked over to the teen for a moment before a small smile emerged, followed by a short shake of the head. "No...I don't think there's anything I need to say. Be sure to rest well, Master Roy."

"Very well then. Mark, Matthew," he knocked his knuckles to his chest, "goodnight."

"Goodnight Master Roy." Mark murmured before the young lord wandered off into the night to his tent, leaving the two friends as the only ones around the dying embers. The cracks from the small flames broke the stillness of the dark before a loud yawn from Matthew dispelled it completely. "Tired, Matthew?"

"Perhaps. It's been...quite busy as of late." The lean fighter sprawled out over one of the logs by the fire, reminding Mark all too much of a cat. "As I'm sure you know."

A small chuckle, "you can say that, I suppose. I'd prefer being busy compared to what I was doing however."

"Oh?" A sly grin, "how was spending time with Legault and Heath?"

Matthew's comment, and the intonation within, led Mark to smile softly - of course Matthew would know who Mark was with, though not necessarily where he was. "It was...interesting to say the least. They were...annoying at times."

"How surprising. Actually," he smiled again, "not at all." The spy suddenly shifted then, gazing at Mark. "What do you think? Think we have a chance? That he does?"

Mark paused for a moment, silently closing his eyes; he calmly exhaled, a small smile spreading over his features. "He is young...he has much to learn. But when he does learn it all - everything I have to offer, everything Marcus has, everything the enemy has - he will become the greatest general in Elibe. He will surpass his father, Lord Hector, General Douglas, King Zephiel...he will become greater than the lords of old - Ferenan of Ostia, Zemma of Bern, Gerald of Etruria. Perhaps even greater than Roland, Barigan, Athos, Hartmut." Mark opened his eyes, "Mark my words, Matthew, young Roy will become one of the greatest heroes Elibe has ever seen."

* * *

><p>Slightly north of the Lycian Army lay Ostia; as one of the Elibe's largest cities, the Lycian capital seemingly never came to a halt. Although the merchant shops and bazaar stalls closed around sundown, Ostian nightlife flourished in other ways. The taverns and bars that dotted the interior of the city were alive well into the night as workers, mercenaries, and the destitute gave their copper and silver pieces to the barkeeps to drink their woes, worries, and anger away. With the almost never ending consumption of alcohol by these men, fights often arose - although many of these fights were broken up by the strong armed men that the bar employed, some could not be contained. Many times, these brawls would spill out into the streets where one man would often either end up imprisoned or killed in the streets.<p>

What was unusual about this night, however, was there were no fights or brawls; the Ostian constables were usually run ragged by the constant disturbances created by the drunkards. Therefore, the complete inaction during the night had startled the guards but - perhaps intelligently - did not question it. For this reason, the streets were left mostly deserted by both belligerent and constable. The lack of people gave a sense of serenity to the city, a quietness that was not often found within Ostian walls.

As he looked out over the ramparts of Castle Ostia, Leygance was well aware of both the last time Ostia was so quiet and the reason it was currently. Ostia had last silenced itself with the departure of Lord Hector; a collective breath had been held, fear and worry permeating from the city. On this night, however, a different feeling held reign over the city.

With the tournament laying upon the morrow, the city retired early in preparation for the event. Some taverns even closed their doors early, issuing last call over four candlemarks earlier than normal; even the habitual drunkards had retired early, helping to further the eerie silence.

Leygance couldn't help but feel calmed by the sereneness of it all. Though tomorrow was likely the most important day of his life, he was not nervous - in fact, he was anything but. Perhaps it was the fact that he finally would achieve his life's goal of limitless power or that his plan had worked to complete perfection but General Leygance felt nearly giddy for what lay before him. All that lay in his path was the faux tournament that he had _slightly _influenced; contacting various knights that were loyal to him as well as noblemen and their sons that lost from Hector's rule, Leygance had manipulated the entrants into the tournament. With one of his men entering at almost every point, he would have the advantage of numbers with every round - there was almost no possible way he could lose. Though Devias had pointed out that the last candlemark of battle time would be open to all comers, Leygance was confident he would emerge right where he wanted to be.

He didn't let his confidence turn into arrogance; he had implemented numerous safety nets to ensure that the tables did not turn on him. Knowing that Barth was out in the city alongside the Ilian mercenaries Hector hired, Leygance was not stupid enough to leave himself open to an attack by the Ostian. He had commanded Devias to stay within the castle and defend the gatehouse of the Lion's Hold against any possible intruders. The Steward of Ostia also left behind most of the Ostian knights loyal to him as well as a handful of mercenaries to ensure that Devias had plenty of men to defend the castle with; in addition to these men, Leygance had left two guards by Lilina's bedchambers to ensure of her disposal, should the general become incapacitated.

In reality, Leygance was playing a very dangerous gambit. All privy to the inner workings of Ostia, as well as knowledge of Araphen, knew that Hector (and by extension, Lilina) possessed the final say in all matters and that nothing could be accomplished without their say so. For Leygance to have the propensity to declare not only a large civil event but one in his liege's name was problem enough; for him to further state that it was for his lady's hand in marriage was simply treasonous. He knew that if he did not consolidate all realms of power and authority under him in the few moments upon the morrow, he would be strung up as a traitor.

If he could keep Lilina quiet, however, he had no reason to worry. As long as the young woman was under his thumb, he held all legality behind his words; Sir Barth, the biggest thorn in his side, possessed no true legal power behind his actions making him the traitor in the eyes of the League. If Leygance could hold onto his trump card, all would be well.

He thumbed the sword pommel at his side, casting a small glance over to the arena. So lost in his own thoughts was the general that he didn't notice his lieutenant draw near till he was tapped on the shoulder. "Hrm?"

"Milord," Devias tapped his chest, the sound slightly padded due to the heavy cloth he wore, "are you alright?"

The blonde man nodded slowly, "yes. Just...thinking."

"About tomorrow?"

"Aye." He nodded, "do you believe we will pull this off?"

The portly man stopped for a moment before he mimicked the action. "You've made sure there's nothing that can slip through the cracks. It is your crowning achievement, General."

"I certainly hope so." Leygance sighed softly before eyeing his friend. "Was there something you needed?"

"Yes, sir. Captain Erde of the Bloodtooth Knights - the mercenaries you hired from Bern - is curious as to what he shall be doing in the arena."

Leygance nodded slowly. Erde was one of the most renowned pitfighters in all of Elibe at one point before he started his own mercenary group - a collective unit that were nothing more than organized highway men for the most part. Nonetheless, the man was a fearsome fighter, possibly the best in Leygance's employ. "He is to be near my side throughout the entire tournament. If he is able to last the entire tournament alongside me...tell him his pay is to be tripled."

Devias raised an eyebrow. "Tripled, sire?" A nod. "I will tell him. Anything else sire?"

"No...no, that will do."

Watching as Devias left, Leygance felt his eyes drift back to the arena. Though the scenery had not shifted, something within him had. Even though he had one of the best warriors around by his side, the Ostian general could not shake the sinking feeling in his stomach.

* * *

><p>Another log was added to the fire, causing sparks to shoot up and out from the small pile; the yellow and orange flames licked at the new addition, quickly beginning to add it to the ashy pile at the bottom. The ailing fire was one of the few left within the war camp as most others had been extinguished or had been allowed to burn out as their caretakers retired for the night. The fire and his lone overseer carried on well into the night, the man adding another fuel source every so often to keep his primeval companion alive.<p>

Isolated from most of the rest of the camp, Edward picked up the long stick he had been using to churn up the embers; prodding the bottom of the fire, the young knight stared at his lone companion, watching the flames lick the bark of the new piece of wood. Another prod sent the wood into the embers; the Caelin knight grabbed a handful of leaves and tossed them into the embers as well, causing small flames to sprout and grab hold of the bark. Satisfied that the fire did not need any further maintenance, he sat back and stared at it, losing himself in it as he had been for the past few candlemarks.

He had been joined with Eris and other Caelin knights earlier in the evening, where they laughed much of the night away, their spirits risen higher than they had been in weeks. Only wearing his breastplates and armed only with a side sword, it was the most comfort he had experienced since the force had arrived in Araphen. All of knights welcomed the relative feeling of freedom and expressed thus, some even wearing only their trousers and a shirt, relishing the chance to go without their equipment for the night. Ever the dutiful knight, however, the son of Sain chose to at least wear his breastplate in case of emergency.

Like most of the Lycian Army, the Caelin knights began to dwindle as they retreated for the night; eventually leaving Edward and Eris alone, the two had talked long into the night before she withdrew from the conversation, citing fatigue. Eris' retiring for the night left Edward alone by the fire and though he knew he needed to sleep before tomorrow, he felt no closer to sleep than he did three candlemarks ago. So he carried on with the fire, keeping it alive to keep him company before he too was forced to retire for the night.

The knight thumbed the Caelin crest upon his breast, absentmindedly frowning. Try as he might, Edward did not truly feel a connection with the rest of the Lycian Army. Though he was Caelin by heritage and through blood, he had only lived within Caelin recently; as far as he was concerned, he was not from Caelin. It was hard, therefore, for him to associate himself as a true Lycian - though he recognized himself as a Lycian knight, he did not consider himself a Lycian man.

He felt misplaced, an outsider privy to the inside. Listening to the men speak of their marquises and of their lords, Edward felt a pang of longing. He and his father had lived within Caelin for the better part of the decade and served in the Caelin army but he had never been officially knighted. Sain still was officially a knight in service to Caelin but Edward was nothing more than a freelance knight, given a chance to fight in Caelin because of his father's ties and history. He was a knight without lord or home, a wayfarer who gave no allegiance.

He had experienced a small taste of serving a lord in Araphen under Lord Hector but after the general's untimely death, Edward was once again left without a leader. Roy of Pherae led him now but due to Mark's micromanagement of the army, it felt as though the strategist was the real leader and Roy was a mere figurehead - perhaps that was the reason why the knight consistently sought out the brilliant tactician.

Ed's head shot up as he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Turning ever so slightly, he looked into the dark as a white figure emerged into the firelight. Recognizing the sister, the knight smiled and nodded. "Evening, Lady Ellen."

"Hello Sir..." Her smile shifted slightly, "I'm afraid I do not know your name, Sir Knight."

"Edward, Lady Ellen. It is nice to make your acquaintance."

"You as well Sir Edward. Please, do not call me Lady Ellen - I am not royal, only a simple sister in the church. Miss Ellen if you must."

Edward smiled wider, "Miss Ellen it is then. What brings you so far from Princess Guinevere's tent this evening?"

The cleric stepped forward, her mouth set in a line. "I suppose I simply couldn't sleep and set myself to wandering." She gestured to the edge of the log he sat on. "May I?"

"Of course." He slid over to the other end, "I suppose a war camp is definitely one of the safer places to be at night...though, a pretty lady like yourself still has to watch their backs after all..."

An awkward silence settled then as neither knew what else to say. The two settled upon watching the fire dance, continuing to lap at the log that was quickly turning black. A few more minutes dragged by before the woman spoke softly. "You are in service to Caelin?"

A nod, "aye. Recently designated commander as well - though more due to the lack of experience than of personal accomplishment."

"Commander? But you're so young!" She paused at this smiled slightly, stifling a giggle. "Well, you seem older than I but still young to command! Er...not that I meant any disrespect to your abilities..."

The knight grinned widely as he chuckled, "no no no! I agree with you completely! I chanced on this solely because of the fact that our ranks were...depleted at Araphen. Many of our knights remaining are almost as young as I am!"

"Oh my...I am sorry to hear about your losses, Sir Edward."

"As am I..." Deciding to move quickly from the sobering subject, he jumped to the first thought that crossed his mind. "I noticed you were carrying a staff a few days ago, Miss Ellen. Do you know how to use them?"

"Quite so. The Church tries to teach all of their members to use magic staves - light magic as well in some cases, though it is not as common." A shrug, "I've been using staves even before I joined the Church, so I suppose it is second nature to me. I do not think much of it."

"You knew how to use magic staves before you joined the church?"

"Not very proficiently but enough to begin to tap into their power. I am rather proficient with them...I wish I could say the same about using holy magic."

A soft chuckle, "I wish the same could be said for me. I would probably blow myself up if I even attempted using magic..."

"Surely that would be a sight to see!" She laughed softly, raising her hand in front of her mouth to seem polite. Another moment of silence before she once again broke it. "I admit...it's very pleasant to be able to talk to you so freely - being that you're a male and a stranger after all. And a knight to boot! I'm afraid to admit that I thought you Lycians were something of a backwards people..."

"Backwards?" Edward blinked, "is that how we are presented in Bern?"

"I'm ashamed to admit that's the case. It was mostly the former king, King Desmond, who made it seem that way. He tended to paint all other nations in a rather negative light...King Zephiel did nothing to help that cause either."

"How long have you been at Princess Guinevere's side?"

A short pause, "three, maybe four years. Why?"

"Did you ever meet King Zephiel?"

The cleric nodded slowly, "a few times. Never personally. Whenever he would come to visit Milady, he would whisk her away to some part of the castle."

Edward frowned, "so you don't know what he's like? Shame."

"Well," she tapped a finger to her chin, "I would describe him as...fierce. His eyes always possessed this inner fire, almost like an ambition that can't be sated. But I've heard him speak and he's incredibly intelligent...possibly the smartest person I've ever met if I'll be honest."

"I see." He tapped his foot lightly. "Will you be with Her Majesty tomorrow, Miss Ellen?"

"No," a shake of the head, "Milady instructed me to do as Master Mark wished - I'll be with those in the arena, healing any wounds as needed. It is the least I can do."

"Oh? Well, it will be good to have such a capable healer at my back." At Ellen's questioning look, he elaborated. "I'll be fighting in the arena tomorrow at Master Roy's command. I know only of a few of the knights who will be fighting - Captain Canaan, Dame Eris, Sirs Alan and Lance - but it is still a good feeling to know we are in capable hands."

"As God wills, I shall serve you well Sir Edward. Though...I cannot work miracles Sir Edward. Please come back to our staves alive."

"Don't worry Miss Ellen," the fire flickered and died, "I wouldn't dream of anything else."

* * *

><p><em>Sorry this took me so long to update. It has been a busy few months for me. Regardless, R and R please. Thank you.<em>


	11. Smoke and Mirrors

**Smoke and Mirrors**

_May 5th, 999 A.S._

_Castle Ostia, Lycian League, Elibe_

_In The Ostian Sewers,_

_In the past, I have done some odd things in order to gain an advantage over an enemy - dressing the army like livestock, using camouflage, leaving our camp doors open to confuse the enemy - and I have done some risky things - sneaking into Castle Bern with Eliwood, Hector, and Lyn comes to mind - but I do not think I ever have crawled through the sewers under a city in order to enter said city. Actually, scratch that...I've never crawled through sewers at all, regardless of the goal._

_That being said, here we are. We woke up bright and early with Matthew, who showed us the entrance to the city's sewer systems. And here we have waited until the city begins to become more lively, so as not to draw suspicion to ourselves. Admittedly, the sewers are much cleaner than I first imagined; Matthew believes that they are connected to the old Ostian catacombs, though I won't be going that far into them._

_I ultimately decided to stick with the fellows going into the arena. There's not much a tactician can do during the actual mission of retrieval - there's much I can do in terms of scouting the arena for openings. Additionally, we must decide upon who enters the tournament and when - I believe a logical mind will be needed here._

_Ah, it seems we are beginning our ascent. _

Mark placed the journal in his bag, dumping what little ink was left in his bottle into the small stream of trash that was below. Matthew had sprung to his feet and began to organize who was going with Roy into the castle and who was entering the tournament. "Is it time to go, Matthew?"

"Yeah. I believe we have enough time for us to get in without causing too big of a scene. Mark," Matthew nodded towards a small ramp that led towards a pair of iron stairs, "use those stairs. It will bring you up in a rather subdued corner of Ostia. Head towards the heart of the city to the tavern called the _Iron Cauldron. _There, Sirs Barth and Zealot will be - mention my name and Lord Roy's name and you should have no problems."

"You're not coming with us?"

"Negative. Change of plans - I met with Astol while you all were sleeping. He is to lead you all into the castle as originally planned. I, however, am going to sneak into the castle where I will free Lady Lilina and Sir Bors."

A slow nod, "you're worried they'll be executed if fighting breaks out."

"Precisely..." A few moments passed before Matthew held out his fist, "Godspeed Mark. I know you'll succeed - you always do."

Mark tapped the back of his fist to Matthew's, using a secret handshake that only those of Lyndis' cadre knew. "And I know you'll dare not disappoint me. Good luck Matthew. See you on the other side." The spy nodded before he sped off, grabbing a torch from the stone wall beside him. Waving on the Pheraen lord's party, the sounds of footsteps could be heard long after the light from the fire disappeared.

Clapping his hands together loudly, Mark stifled a laugh as he watched a few of the men left under his watch jump. It was the simple things in life sometimes. "Alright ladies and gents. Shall we be off?"

Not waiting for a reply, the tactician started up the ladder before pushing the cover up from below; squinting as the morning sun shone into the sewers, Mark pulled himself through the hole and into the city. Rubbing his eyes a few times to help them adjust to the light, Mark quickly gathered his bearings before looking around him. Seeing no curious eyes, the strategist gestured for the knights below to begin the ascent. Watching as Alan and Lance removed themselves first, the tactician kept a wary eye out for those who looked too closely; within a few minutes, sixty fully armed knights had appeared from nothingness and stood in a small circle.

"Alan, Lance, you two follow me. We'll seek out Sir Barth. The rest of you..." he paused for a moment, "Captain Canaan is to lead in my absence. Lead them to the arena, Captain and make sure you all rest. We've got a busy day."

The three Pheraen retainers departed from the rest of the group with Mark attempting to recall his surroundings. The man had been within Ostia numerous times before but as it was with all cities, it had grown more dense and changed. The once wide streets had narrowed and the spacious alleys in between shops had largely disappeared; in the ten years since Mark had last visited Ostia, it had become more compact. As such, any sense of direction Mark once had was rather sketchy at best and completely unreliable at worst.

Ultimately, however, the threesome made their way through the city before finding themselves in front of a large inn named the _Iron Cauldron_. Peering in through the window mounted on the door, Mark snapped his head back as another pair of eyes greeted him. "Er..."

The inn door opened as blue haired man looked out, a frown set on his face; the man was around Mark's height as their eyes met almost in midair, one set confused and the other inquisitive. "Oh, I apologize. I was just exiting."

"It is no matter...tell me, is there an Ilian man by the name of Zealot here?"

The man's eyes narrowed ever so slightly but it was noticed by the all-seeing eyes of Mark. "Yes, there is. Shall I take you to him?"

"Aye, please."

The man led the three inside, exposing one of the busiest taverns Mark had ever seen. A rowdy group of males sat right by the doorway, their smiling faces accompanied by laughter; Mark peered quickly into their mugs, sighting a lighter ale often used in the mornings. Following the man up a flight of stairs, they walked briskly down a hallway before stopping at a single door; tapping on it four times, pausing, then twice more, the door opened slowly before exposing a large man sporting a mohawk.

"Oujay? Who are these men?"

"I'm guessing by the crest on your armor that you are an Ostian knight?"

Barth leveled an eye towards Mark, "indeed. I am Barth."

"Then you are the man I am looking for." Mark offered his hand, "I am Mark, Grand Strategist of the Lycian Army and advisor to General Roy of Pherae. Should you doubt my claim...behind me are two of Pherae's brightest knights, Alan and Lance; you will find Pherae's crest on their armor."

The knight looked over Mark's head (much to his consternation) to the two knights' chests. Seeing the three pronged battle crest engraved and inlayed on their armor, the knight nodded slowly as a small grin spread on his face. "Well met, Mark. Well met, Alan, Lance." He shook Mark's head with gusto, "it does well to see members of the Lycian Army here. Tell me though...how did you get in the city?"

The three men were led into the room before it was closed and locked; Oujay remained outside as an Ilian knight with purple hair stepped in front of the door after it closed. Inside, Mark nodded to the three other occupants: a female Ostian knight, another Ilian knight, and then a veteran Ilian - Zealot, Mark assumed. "Matthew and one of his subordinates, Astol I believe it was, got us into the city by way of the sewers."

"Where is Matthew now?"

Lance spoke, "he continued onward towards the castle. Lord Roy and men under his command are heading towards the castle as we speak."

"To the castle?" The man Mark believed to be Zealot spoke up, "that goes against all of our plans..."

"Your plans? Matthew stated that a force was to head towards the arena to hold down Leygance while Master Roy broke into the castle to rescue Lady Lilina."

"Oh Elimine..." Barth sighed, "Matthew argued for that plan from the beginning but the rest of us - the fine knights you see here as well as Astol - agreed that Master Roy was to engage Leygance in the arena..."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "Why would he? Were he to be defeated, it would kill any claim he has to taking control over Ostia."

"Master Roy is very popular in Ostia. The only man more popular here that isn't an Ostian is Lord Eliwood himself...were Master Roy to engage General Leygance in the tournament, we were hoping it would turn the people away from Leygance. Master Roy would be the popular choice for such a victory."

"Additionally," Wendy continued on Zealot's words, "Sir Barth stated that Master Roy is a brilliant fighter. General Leygance, though he may be a snake, is a great warrior in his own right. We were...banking on Master Roy being able to eliminate Leygance from the tournament, since our best knights are unable to enter."

"Oh," Alan grinned, "I wouldn't worry about that."

"Fear not, sirs," Lance added, "we'll defeat Leygance in armed combat."

Barth looked skeptically at the three, "why are you so sure of that? Leygance truly is formidable - he defeated Sir Bors and has held his own before with General Oswin. He is not to be taken lightly."

Mark crossed his arms and tapped a finger to his bottom lip. "Worry not. We have the finest knights from every province of Lycia under our command. Even Hector himself would be pushed to his limit."

"You speak as though you know Lord Hector personally, Sir Mark."

Mark waved a hand, "I'm not a knight, please no sir. But to clarify your words...yes, I knew Lord Hector personally. I advised him in fact. I was his primary tactical advisor on a campaign twenty years prior. Further," Mark smiled, "I was the one to introduce him to his wife. So yes...I knew Lord Hector very personally. And when I heard he fell at Araphen..." Mark's face contorted as his eyes looked darkly towards Barth, "I resolved myself to lead his successors to fulfill my promise to him. So don't worry Sir Barth. We will kill Leygance and burn him at the stake for daring to harm our lord's memory."

* * *

><p>He adjusted his cravat slightly to the left, straightening it out against his coat collar. The coat felt stiff and inflexible, the new fabric much more uncomfortable than his usual attire. With his promotion, however, his clothes needed to be upgraded; his mother had the family's personal tailor come to their castle to size him up and create an elaborate jacket that reflected his new station - he just wished it was as comfortable as his other coat as well!<p>

His father had contacted their blacksmith as well, having him create a fine shoulder pauldron and grieves; the armor was painted a white in color with semi-elaborate trim work. Curious as to why the trim work was beyond the basic trim of a regular knight, his father had informed him that more the more intricate trim work better benefitted his station, which would lead to more of a general-type appearance for him. With someone as young as him in command, it would do well for him to have as commanding an appearance as possible to help instill respect.

Buttoning his coat across his chest, Klein pondered over his new command. He had been given command of over ninety men, most of them being inexperienced in the field; after hearing about his orders, he was shocked to learn that he had been given such an important mission at such a young age. After letting his parents know, however, his father had sneered and declared it had been a power move by Roartz; nonetheless, his father was immensely proud of him, he declared and set about to helping Klein ready himself for his command. Teaching him some advanced battle maneuvers and helping him to relearn tactics from the academy and Douglas' personal tutoring, Klein certainly felt better about his command than he did initially.

While Pent was his way of readying himself for the stresses of command, Louise was the way he kept his composure. Talking with him late in the night to assuage his fears of failure, his mother did wonders to keep him calm for the task ahead. Recanting stories of his parents' adventures and their military campaign with the various marquises of Lycia, Lady Louise helped to distract her son from the impending trials he was about to undergo.

Tasked with finding the various gangs of bandits and pirates that plagued the Western Isles, General Klein's small force was to eliminate or bribe any men that impeded production of the various mines on the islands. Given half a score of archers, a handful of mages, and two score each of men-at-arms and spearmen, Klein's small army was well equipped to deal with the bandit menace. Though a hundred men did not make a full fledged army, their superior equipment and training more than made up for their lack of numbers, particularly against crude highwaymen. As long as Klein kept his wits about him and did not lead his men into certain death, there was no true threat to them on the islands.

Tightening the strap to his shoulder and chest armor, Klein ran a final check over his equipment. Eyeing the quiver and bow resting against the wall, he patted himself down before resting at his hip. A small blade was attached at his waist as a close combat weapon; though he knew rudimentary swordplay, he preferred to keep the enemy at bay using his exceptional marksmanship. Checking his pack - which contained personal rations as well as basic supplies in the case of emergency - Klein turned around.

"I think I have everything."

A small smile came from Pent as his son said this, "of course you do. Your mother has only checked and rechecked it for you at least three times."

"I did the same thing for you before as well, Lord Pent," a playful jibe, "but I don't think you missed anything Klein."

"As long as I have my bow, I'll be okay." Klein gave his parents a small smile. "The Western Isles aren't that dangerous. After all, I'll be marching around with a hundred men at my back."

"Speaking of, Master Klein," Erk's voice drifted from the doorway. The Count of Caerleon had decided to visit Reglay with his family, taking a much deserved vacation from his hectic life. "Lord Pent and I have talked multiple times about your mission and...know that perhaps your most dangerous enemies are not the ones in front of you but the ones behind you."

Klein looked perplexed for a moment before the reasoning happened on him. Nodding slowly at Erk's words, the general looked downward. "I certainly hope I won't have to worry about such a thing."

"As do we, Klein." His father lay a hand on his son's shoulder, "but because it is something to worry about, I went out and made sure you had some men loyal to you." And Klein's questioning look, Pent continued. "I hired a score of Ilian mercenaries - half pegasus knights, half heavy armor. They're in your name so they will only answer to your commands...no one else."

Klein smiled softly, "thank you. I never would have thought of such a thing..."

"If we don't look out for you," Louise smiled, "what kind of parents would we be?" She hugged her son tightly then, resting her head on his shoulder. "Now if you don't want to cause your mother grief then you come back safely. You'll be alright though - you're your father's son. So that means you'd better take care of yourself!"

Klein chuckled at his father's expense. "I will Mother. I'll write as often as I can."

"I said the same thing to her once, Klein. So I'll understand if you don't have the time." Pent hugged his son tight for a brief moment before clasping his forearm. "You'll do great."

Klein noted that Erk had mysteriously left - likely to give his parents a chance to say their goodbyes. "I'll be alright. Be sure to tell Master Erk and Lady Priscilla goodbye for me."

"I will. Oh, Klein," Pent spoke, "the mercenary commander is waiting outside alongside your carriage. She'll ride with you to the port; I thought it'd be a good idea for you to get to know one another."

"Thank you, once again." Klein smiled, "I'll see you both soon. I love you both."

His parents' echoing words of love in his ears, Klein collected his items before heading out the large entrance to Castle Reglay. Eyes peering down the front courtyard, Klein could make out a teal head by a brown carriage. Assisted by his family's personal driver, Klein loaded his belongings beside the driver before approaching the individual.

"You must be the mercenary captain my father told me about. I am Klein, General of Etruria. And what is your name, Sir...?"

The individual turned around as Klein was shocked to discover the person was a female. Offering her hand, the two now-comrades clasped the other's hand. "I'm afraid I'm no sir, General Klein. I am Tate, Captain of Ilia's Second Pegasus Unit. It is an honor to meet you, General."

"The honor is all mine, Captain Tate. It is an even greater honor to have you at my back."

* * *

><p>As it was with any large city, the trash and waste produced by Ostia bordered on the extreme. In older times, Ostian waste was thrown out into the streets or over the castle walls; although it rid the residents of their trash, it quickly accumulated in the streets. Ignored by the Ostian marquises, it did not become a problem until disease struck the great city, rendering nearly a third of its inhabitants dead. After this great epidemic, the Ostian marquis, Agreian, issued a series of laws to clean up the city of Ostia. Creating waste carts, these carts were filled by the populace where they would be wheeled out to a designated area away from the city. Agreian's son, Atroplos, constructed one of the most ambitious civil campaigns ever waged by man. Issuing his extremely talented engineers to burrow beneath the city, Atroplos had tunnels dug beneath the entirety of the city and well beyond; ending near a large river along the Etrurian border, the Ostia engineers positioned the tunnels in such a way that the nearby Escal River flushed out the tunnels.<p>

Unbeknownst to much of the general population was the fact that the sewers led straight beneath the castle. Although the Lord of Ostia was held higher than his civilians were, he was no different than they with his needs. Despite the fact that the sewer system linked peasant and noble, the entrance into the castle from the tunnels was a secret. Given only to the closest of Marquis Ostia's confidantes, it was almost impossible that any man would find the entrance from the tunnel itself - unless that man was one of Lord Hector's closest friends, that is.

Accompanied by over fifty capable men and women, the Ostian spy led the group through the winding corridors of the sewers, navigating through the twists and turns without a moment's hesitation. Behind him, Lord Roy and his men hastened their pace once Matthew gave the go ahead, jogging down a long straightaway. Though they had been rather apprehensive after learning they would be travelling through the Ostian sewers to reach their destination, the men and women of Roy's group had been rather relieved to discover that there were small walkways on either side of the sewer canal.

"Alright," Matthew stopped, "this should be good to wait here. There's the entrance right there." He pointed down towards a side corridor, "that'll lead us by the food disposal. From there, it's a short trip to the dungeons."

"That's where they are keeping Lilina and Sir Bors?"

"If my ears were hearing right and I may point out that they normally do." Matthew leaned against the wall as the rest of the small company caught up. "My man, Astol, will be here shortly. Once he arrives, he will be taking a few men up to the dungeons. I will lead the rest of you further down towards the grand hall."

"Why are some of us going that way?"

Roy responded, "the dungeons will be too tight a space for so many people. Additionally, we will get bottlenecked if we are discovered. For that reason, most of your men, Dieck, will head towards the grand hall. You'll emerge from a room off away from it where you can easily assist us as well as hold your ground if need be. After we surface with Lady Lilina, we'll take the castle."

"And isolate Leygance completely."

"That's the plan," Matthew nodded at Dieck, "in between Barth, Zealot, and Mark in the city, us in the castle, and the Lycian Army outside, Leygance will be a sitting duck."

Saul drifted forward, "who is all going to the dungeons?"

"I will, for I will need to remain out of sight." Roy placed a hand on his chest. "Lady Clarine, Lugh, it would be odd for a noblewoman and a young mage to be in a group of mercenaries...would you be alright with joining me?"

"Of course Master Roy!" Lugh nodded emphatically, Clarine nodding her affirmations as well.

"Thank you. Rutger...would you prefer to go with Dieck's men or with us?"

"...With you."

Roy nodded before turning to his dear friend, "Wolt, I know better than to ask you." A grin came in return, "Father Saul, you and Dorothy go with Sir Dieck. Being a clergyman may assist you in getting through the castle."

"I believe that was the plan," the priest joked, "Lady Sue," the Sacaen looked up, "it'd make sense for you to go with Master Roy."

"Yes. I'm more comfortable on my horse but I can assure you I'm more than capable."

"Very well. That means it will be Master Roy, Lady Clarine, Lady Sue, Rutger, Lugh, Wolt, and myself going up into the dungeons, does it not?" Marcus inquired.

"Don't forget about Astol. He's not as agile as he once was but he's a quick blade. And once you get to the dungeons and free Lady Lilina, Sir Bors, and any other knights that have been imprisoned, you will have their support as well."

"Meanwhile, you'll lead Dieck and his men towards us to the rendezvous point, correct?"

"Correct."

Dieck looked towards the darkened passage, "how long until Astol alerts us?"

"We've been under here for quite a while...it's been nearly two candlemarks since Mark ascended." Matthew pursed his lips, "I'd say maybe another two candlemarks then?"

"So we're waiting for the tournament to start?"

"Astol believed that there'd be less men within the castle once the tournament began, Father Saul."

"So we have to sit here in this nasty place for another two hours?"

"My apologies Lady Clarine," Sir Marcus allowed a slight smile, "but I do believe there's a relatively dry spot by me if you wish to sit."

The Etrurian made a face, "I'll...be okay standing, thank you."

* * *

><p>The Kingdom of Bern had been Elibe's foremost military power for longer than any man could remember or even record; from the days of Hartmut, Bern stressed military strength over that of riches or culture. Interestingly, this devotion to the military brought about a culture of its own. Bern became synonymous with a strong army just as much as Etruria became synonymous with riches and fashion.<p>

Despite Bern's obsession with the militaristic, Lycia itself may have possessed the more violent history. Because of its interesting positioning as a staging ground between Etruria and Bern, Lycia often found itself the battleground for the two great nations as each courted Lycia in hopes of trying to encircle their enemy. Coupled with Lycia's own conquests and civil armed conflicts, no other nation had dabbled so much in war.

It was no unusual scene for an army to be camped east of Ostia. Hemmed in from the north and south by the Laus and Nabatan Mountain ranges, Ostia served as a checkpoint for access east to west and, often by extension, from Etrurian and Bern armies. So often was Ostia the center of conflict between these two nations, or defending itself from one or the other, that the strip of land on either side of Ostia was called 'Dead Man's Corridor'.

Once more, a Bern army followed the footsteps of those that came before it. Roughly a day's march east of Ostia stood the Third Bern Army, one of the largest since the Great Etrurian-Bern War of the 400's. Unlike the Bern force in that war, the army currently within Lycia sought to conquer, not to defend.

The structure of the Bern force befitted General Narshen. Of the six hundred men under Narshen's control, nearly one half astride either destrier or wyvern; the army's composition made it extremely mobile, able to march the same distance as an army of infantry in roughly two-thirds the time. With the ability to cover a great deal of land over a relatively short amount of time, Narshen's army had made up much of its time after backtracking to Araphen. Under the commands of Orer and Narshen, the army had marched double pace until reaching the Laus Mountains; crossing the range with relative ease, the army had camped itself where the mountains met plain.

Despite its impressive speed, the Bern Army found itself stuck. Though the spring rains had mostly ran their course through the majority of Lycia, northern Lycia often experienced the seasonal deluges longer than the rest of the country. Unfortunately for Narshen and his men, their camp fell directly in a basin, where the melted snow and spring waters flowed down the mountains. Almost within a day, the Bern camp was flooded almost to mid-calf, rendering nearly impossible for the supply wagons - a crucial factor to an army the size of Narshen's.

The Bern Army's inability to move threw the Dragon General into one of his sour moods; barking out insults and threats to all who dared come into contact with him. It was during one of the man's dangerous tirades that a fearful messenger approached the general.

"G-General Narshen sir!"

The knight looked away from his latest victim, fury in his eyes. "How dare you, a lowly footman, interrupt a man of my stature!"

"I..." the young man gulped, "I apologize sir! I merely am here to deliver orders!"

"Orders?" Narshen cast a hateful eye to the man, "who is to order I around? Is your mind so dull to believe that there is any man higher in rank than I in this army!?"

"But it comes from the Prime Minister, General!"

Narshen paused, "Prime Minister Orer?" Narshen waved his hand, "fine. Relay his words, peasant."

"Sir. Prime Minister Orer regrets he was not able to inform you in person but supply logistics have caused him a great deal of stress, he says. He stated, sir, that you shall take to the air with a score and a half of your own hand-picked riders. Head towards Ostia, he stated, and meet with General Leygance and take stock of the situation within. Fly around to avoid the Lycian Army, sir."

Narshen leveled a cool eye at the messenger before nodding slowly. "Hasten yourself to him and inform him I shall take wing within the candlemark."

Watching as the man left, Narshen hurriedly dismissed the terrified soldier from before. It took all his power to not sneer at the thought of taking orders from any man besides His Majesty. Though Orer was the king's handpicked minister, Narshen had always felt that the man had preferred the insufferable Gale over him; though he was willing to dutifully heed Orer's commands to garner favor with him, the Dragon General couldn't help but believe that the Prime Minister was attempting to humble him. Shaking his head, Narshen went off to fetch the men that would be flying beside him. Within the candlemark, Narshen was astride his new wyvern, Ragnor, and was off to Ostia, lazily taking his time as he contemplated his role in Orer's schemes.

* * *

><p>It didn't take a philosopher to guess when the first battles of the tournament were underway. A mighty roar had erupted from the coliseum around noontime, an even mightier one when the first kill had been registered. Though Leygance had stated that death was not the only chance for victory, it was assuredly a more definite option than forcing one's opponent to yield. The yells continued for some time and it wasn't difficult to guess when a man fell in battle as the noise surged greatly at certain points.<p>

As he stood beside his handpicked champions, Mark silently prayed that none of Zealot's knights had fallen to Leygance and his comrades. Tasked with wearing down the stamina of the general, the Ilian mercenaries were some of the first into the fray. Though Mark had not witnessed their prowess with his own eyes, he had heard many a time of Zealot's famed Riders of Edessa; skilled on horseback and on foot, Zealot's Riders were as disciplined as any national force and as capable as one as well. Loyal almost to a fault, the Ilians had sworn themselves to task and commander, unflinchingly undertaking any mission that their leader laid before them and this was no different.

Luckily for the allied Lycians, Mark witnessed the battered but alive Ilian knights emerge one by one from the arena, solemn looks glued to their faces. Though their goal was to wear down Leygance, the knights were seemingly disappointed in their inability to defeat the Ostian Steward. Nonetheless, Mark was pleased with their progress, particularly as many emerged with broken weapons and battered shields. As long as they were able to chip away at their enemy's stamina, they would eventually topple the man.

"It seems the Ilians are fighting hard," Alan quipped.

"Yes," Lance's voice sounded from behind Mark, "they look more tired than us after one of Sir Marcus' training sessions."

"If I remember anything about those sessions," Mark grinned softly, "then those men are near death."

"That'd be a possibility. Sir Marcus once had Lance and I run in full armor for six candlemarks. He claimed that a knight who was not capable of running for as long as they slept was no knight at all."

"Stories of Sir Marcus make their way to Caelin. In fact," Eris' voice entered into the conversation, "a common theme for Steward Kent is to compare Sir Marcus' training schedule with Sir Wallace's."

"Surely," the behemoth form of Wallace dwarfed Eris as he stood behind her, "Kent deemed my regimen to be superior! No disrespect to my dear friend but there's no greater combination of knights than Kent and Sain, and it is no coincidence that I trained both of them!"

Lance smiled, "no disrespect intended, Sir Wallace, but Sir Marcus may be the strictest disciplinarian within Lycia. Your regimen may be the most physically demanding but is a knight only as powerful as the knowledge of his abilities?"

"Laddie, you need not know of your limits or your abilities if you are far more conditioned than your opponent! I have turned children into chiseled knights that Durbans himself would have been fearful of."

"Yet," Alan went to defend his brother-in-arms, "if you practice your form time and again and perfect it, there are no holes in your armor. The fundamentals are the basis of any knight's physical repertoire...perfect them and you perfect his abilities."

"How can you perfect the basics if your body is not perfect?" Edward, the recipient of many of Wallace's passed down lessons, piped up. "You're only able to perfect your abilities if you're physically able to perfect them."

"Master Mark," Barth stepped in the middle, cutting off Lance, "you commanded both Lords Marcus and Wallace, did you not?"

"That I did."

"In Ostia, Lord Oswin was revered as Lord Marcus is in Pherae and Lord Wallace in Caelin. Who do you think has the better philosophy?"

Mark's lower lip curled outward as he silently contemplated Barth's inquiry. "There's definite pros and cons to both. I cannot say whether one is superior to the other. I do know, however, that Lord Hector's was the worst I know of."

"Pardon?"

Mark smiled bemusedly at Barth, as Wallace grinned as well, "Lord Hector was possibly one of Elibe's greatest fighters, particularly when the odds were against him. Axe in hand, Hector was a bull on parade in the field, trampling over anything that stood in his path. However, he never trained."

"He didn't?"

"No, Lance, he never did. Lord Hector's skill was entirely from talent and from experience. What he did learn was from those he faced. In fact, Lord Hector and Lord Eliwood have sparred many times throughout their lives and I believe Lord Eliwood held the edge. That's no indictment of Lord Hector's abilities, merely that Lord Eliwood would often utilize his bladework perfectly as Lord Hector would go as the wind blew."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Master Mark," Lance said.

"Sometimes it matters not how you train, because all men acquire their abilities differently. Marcus stressed the basics, while Oswin focused on knowing the limitations of your abilities. And Wallace, you pounded in superior physical prowess. But I think that there's no one universal correct method...you merely find what works for the right person."

"Wahahaha!" Wallace's booming laugh caused Eris to jump, "well said Mark!"

"Lord Wallace," the Ostian knight turned to the old general, "you shall have to teach me your regimen. Many of our recruits are small and wiry. It would do us much good to whip them into shape."

Wallace beamed with joy, "absolutely! Before, I would never dare to reveal the secret behind Caelin's strength but for Ostia or Pherae, I would gladly. I'll have Kent send a copy of my Manual of Knightly Prowess once we take Ostia - then you'll be able to create men out of your boys! Wahahaha!"

"I fear that time may be some ways off."

"Don't be such a downer, Lance," Alan playfully chided his friend, "there's no chance we'll fail to take Ostia. With so many mighty warriors, there's no possible way Leygance will escape."

Barth nodded, "I'm quite interested in seeing you all fight, knights of Lycia. Mark has great confidence in you and Lord Hector often stated that if he had to ride in to battle, all he needed were the knights of Ostia, Caelin, and Pherae and he would emerge victorious."

"We hope to not disappoint you, Sir Barth." Edward tapped his chest, "the knights of Caelin shall die before dishonoring our name."

"Pherae shan't be second to Caelin in their resolve. We are all men of Lycia and we dare not shame our heritage."

Mark thinly smiled, "you all make my dreams fulfilled. Many a strategist and king have wished to control the combined might of Lycia."

"Hm," Lance looked back towards the entrance, "I see that many of Zealot's men are being held back for a time. Now it seems to be mercenaries or Ostian citizens."

"Roadkill to Leygance and his men." Barth rubbed a hand over his chin, "Leygance may not be the mightiest warrior within Ostia, but he is one of the most charismatic. Many fine men pledge loyalty to him and he has hired many impressive warriors as well. There's one group, called the Bloodtooth Knights, who are some of the most feared free knights in Bern."

Mark nodded, "I've heard of them. Their means are far beyond that of most mercenary groups...rumor has it that they are able to field a handful of wyvern riders."

"I cannot say whether that is true but they are a feared group to be sure. And word has it that their captain, Erde, is fighting alongside Leygance. He is a fearsome warrior, one to be feared. If we are to make Leygance kneel, we must eliminate Erde."

"I can do it."

Mark looked over to the knight in question, "you think you can?"

"I'm sure of it. Give me enough time and keep Leygance's men off my back and I can strike down this mercenary of yours."

"A slight change in order but nothing we cannot do...very well then. I need to consult with Sir Zealot. Barth, if you would join me?"

Watching as the two men departed for the entrance, Wallace looked over to the young knight. "Think ye can do it, laddie?"

"We must start somewhere...may as well compare myself to this man. I guess he'll be my measuring stick."

"Wahahaha! Well said! Don't worry, I'll be there to stave away the enemy, don't ye think any differently!"

* * *

><p>Roy was startled awake by the sound of a grating door to his right. Shaking his head quickly to rouse his mind from its dozing state, the Pheraen noble rested a hand on his sword; hearing those around him move as well, Roy looked towards the iron door as it slowly opened. Nodding in acknowledgement as Marcus moved beside him, Roy noticed a form escape from the darkness, hands held up in the universal sign of peace. Relaxing as Matthew held a hand in greeting, he slapped himself mentally for being so cautious.<p>

"Is that your man, Matthew?"

"Aye, sir. Astol!"

The man jogged forward, a dark brown cloak wrapped around his form. As he stepped into the relative light of the torches, Roy noticed the man was slightly older, significantly older than himself; purple hair was perched atop a scarred and bearded face and Roy definitely made out the glint of a short sword at the man's side. "Matthew, the tournament has started."

"Has it?"

"Aye. It started maybe half a candlemark ago. By the time you reach your destination, it will be nearly an entire candlemark since the start. It'll take my group nearly two candlemarks to get through the cellars and the dungeon...you should wait half a candlemark before you ascend."

"I figured as much. Very well then. I'm assuming you are going now then?" Matthew cracked his back loudly, causing Roy to grimace.

"Yes. There's no men within the cellars but once we reach the dungeons, we'll be forced to travel quietly and will probably have to take many turns."

"My men are ready now, Sir Astol." Roy voiced himself for the first time since they had settled down. "Counting yourself, there shall be eight of us."

"Master Roy? It is an honor, sir. Very well then. Let us be off." Astol turned towards his boss, "good luck Matthew. May Elimine bless your blades."

"You as well." Matthew motioned to Dieck, who hollered for his company to ship off. Walking around the corner, it did not take long for the group to disappear into darkness.

"Astol," Roy followed the man as they headed towards the door, "tell me of Lilina's situation."

Astol waited as the rest of the group caught up with them before frowning. "While we are in the cellars, we will be able to speak freely, albeit hushed. Once we reach the dungeons, we cannot speak. But...General Leygance imprisoned Lady Lilina some days ago. After Lady Lilina forced his hand, Leygance bested Sir Bors before forcing her into house arrest. However, after he made his announcement of the tournament, Lady Lilina has been placed in the dungeons in the cell next to Sir Bors. I have no spoken to either yet I know where they are."

"Have they been harmed?"

"No," Astol shook his head, "Sir Bors was struck down by Leygance's hand but its naught but a bruise by now I expect. Lady Lilina has not been harmed in the slightest."

"This news calms our minds for sure, Sir Astol," Marcus stated. "What do you believe is the best course of action once we exit these cellars?"

"I have stashed a number of black and grey cloaks near the door that divides these cellars and the dungeons. There, we'll slip those on and proceed carefully and slowly through the dungeon. Single file and with your hands on your weapons so that they do not clatter around." Astol pulled back his cloak and illustrated how he slipped his thumb between the pommel and the sheath, keeping it from knocking against one another. "Then we simply make our way to the cells; there, we'll dispose of any guards as quietly as possible before I'll set to freeing Lady Lilina and any men with her."

"What caused Leygance to revolt?"

Astol regarded Lugh for a moment before carefully wording his reply. "Leygance has always been an ambitious individual, especially for one as young as he. In fact, Leygance is almost the exact same age Lord Hector is, rather, was." The group turned a corner, "to give a precise reason would be difficult as Leygance is a complicated man. He's cunning and resourceful and perhaps the most important thing about Leygance is he understands people. He understands their motivators, their inhibitions, what makes them tick. He's a dangerous man and were it not for his skill, he would have been removed long ago."

"What kept your Lord Hector from keeping him around so long then?" Though Clarine acted with a sense of entitlement at times, she was as intelligent as any noble was and political intrigue had always fascinated her tremendously. "Surely he recognized him as a threat?"

"Of course," Astol nodded, "but Leygance was brilliant with numbers. His abilities to the civil services could not merely have been thrown away. Lord Hector, great as he was, held no passion for many domestic affairs. Leygance was his primary advisor for these and thus he found himself a niche that he could not be removed from."

"You're a good deal more critical of your former lord than many of your compatriots." Rutger's quiet voice was almost inaudible, even over the silence of the cellars.

Astol shrugged, "Lord Hector was as great as they came. A brilliant tactician and strategist, an extraordinary warrior, and an extremely likable man. Honest to a fault and possibly the most loyal man I've ever had the good grace to meet. He was as any man was, however, and no man is perfect. He was brash and crude and that did not help him in diplomatic affairs. His impatient behavior suited him poorly for day-to-day activities of his kingdom. Just as Lord Hector won many over with his charm, he isolated many with his demeanor as well. He'll be remembered as one of the greatest Ostian lords but he was not perfect. Lord Hector's greatest achievement will be his daughter."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean, Master Roy, is that Lady Lilina has the capacity to be as capable as her father, if not moreso. Almost more loved than Lord Hector, Lady Lilina possesses the one quality that Lord Hector never had - prudence. She'll be much more able than Lord Hector to craft a podium of power for herself and Lycia. Though she may not be more feared than Lord Hector, she may become more respected."

"It seems you possess much faith in Lady Lilina," Marcus commented.

The spy nodded, "aye. She is capable of leading us all to a golden age. She is truly a remarkable individual."

"Yes..." Roy said somberly, "yes, she is. That is why we must make haste. Enough chitchat! Let us hurry, Astol!"

* * *

><p>Leygance breathed heavily, the visor of his helm raised as he leaned on his lance. Though he had emerged victorious in every bout he had thus far, to say he was exhausted was an understatement. For nearly two and a half candlemarks he had fought any man who dare stepped before him and had put them down as they came. Although he had helped his men as he brought down the enemy, he decided that the little time or reprieve he had between challengers would be what decided if he was able to carry on the entire length of time or not.<p>

Watching as the son of an Ostian noble down another of those pesky Ilian knights, Leygance inhaled deeply. Though most of the challengers were mere mercenaries or civilians who somehow qualified, the Ilian knights under that damn Zealot proved to be quite the large bite. Though they all had fallen, their sturdiness and discipline took quite a bit out of the current champions.

Leygance nodded slowly as Erde walked up towards him. Though the other four men currently championing the tournament were winded and tired, the captain of the Bloodtooth Knights looked no worse for wear. Though Leygance had issued the tournament and was easily the most recognizable figure on the field, Captain Erde had easily been the shining star; easily dispatching any man that came before him, it was only once the mercenary started to feel fatigued that his performance started to dip to that of his enemy. Wielding spear and shield, he had not even needed to draw his sword well after the first candlemark when his lance shattered against an Ilian knight's shield. Though he knew the captain was on his side, Leygance could not help but feel slight apprehension with each kill the man achieved and with each haggard breath Leygance drew.

"General," the mercenary nodded, "how fare you?"

The general winced as he cracked his neck, watching as one of the tournament officials started to replace any broken weaponry amongst the five remaining men. "As well as could be hoped. Those Ilian dogs take quite the punishment before they're willing to admit defeat."

"That I can agree to. They're easily fair and away the most dangerous men we've fought. Yet, none of them have truly struck fear in me yet. They use the sword as their main weapon and a shield in their offhand. Disciplined but they have a basic weakness - they must fight in close combat. Just maintain our range and we'll be alright."

"Aye," Leygance nodded, "some of my men shall be emerging soon. Anyone who wishes to concede themselves to their compatriot shall receive a good sum of money as compensation for their efforts."

"Strike me out," Erde grinned, the scar on his lip widening, "I'm in this until the end. That's what my contract states, yeah?"

"Hmm," Leygance's eyes narrowed, "focus yourself. The next wave approaches."

"Hm," Erde frowned as the next five men were allowed to enter, "I count two Ilians, a knight of a crest I do not know, and two men who seem to be mercenaries. Wait for them to approach us?"

Leygance did not reply as he lowered his visor; raising his lance to his chest, the Ostian general stepped forward as an official belted out the rules once more. Noticing the knight in question was staring at him, Leygance knew he had found his opponent.

Almost as soon as the official ceased speaking, the knight charged. Waving a battleaxe above his head, Leygance deftly stepped to his right in order to dodge the strike. Stabbing forward, his lance passed through empty air as the other knight sidestepped as well.

Rolling his shoulders to the left, Leygance swung his lance in a horizontal arc from the right, the shaft of his spear colliding with the man's shoulder. Forcing him off balance, the Ostian jammed the butt of the lance into the man's shoulder once more, forcing him to backpedal to keep his balance. As the man readied himself once more, Leygance's eyes widened when he recognized the crest on the man's armor.

"Halt!" Leygance held a hand up, "you are of Araphen!?"

The knight nodded before raising his visor and pounding his chest, "Captain Canaan of the Araphenian Knights and a captain in the Lycian Army!"

"The Lycian Army? Has the Lycian Army come to Ostia?"

Canaan smiled thinly, "yes and we have come to kill you, traitor!"

Leygance's eyes widened before he struck out once more, his lance narrowly missing the scampering Canaan. Pursuing relentlessly, Leygance tore off his helm to keep his vision as clear as possible, knowing the Araphenian's might. A straight blow was knocked upwards and it took a sideways roll for the general to dodge the counterstrike by the axeman. Stabbing forward, Leygance was not surprised to have missed the captain; flinging his other hand forward, he struck out with the blunt end of his spear. The wood connected with Canaan's axe hilt before Leygance reversed the blow and swung downward with the spear point; clipping Canaan's shoulder paldron, Leygance thinly smiled as the man was forced to retreat backwards.

Swinging the thick lance in from the side, the general's smile increased as the impact caused Canaan's hands to fly towards the side. Pulling his arms back, Leygance stabbed forward and narrowly missed the dancing figure; realizing the man was swinging his axe in for another attack, the knight raised his spear up just in time to block. Unfortunately for Leygance, the blow cleaved through the shaft of the spear, causing it to burst apart at impact.

Dropping the shattered remains of his weapon, Leygance lunged his shoulder into Canaan's midsection, forcing the man backwards; drawing his blade in the process, Leygance spun in a circle to his left, slicing out as he did so. The blade audibly scraped against Canaan's vambrace, carving a small gash into the inferior metal. The Ostian stabbed forward with his blade, unsurprised by the downward deflection; switching gears, Leygance cut upward with the blade, forcing one of Canaan's hands away from the shaft of the axe. Grabbing the axe's shaft with his free hand, Leygance flung his blade forward and aimed it towards the captain's neck, a sign of victory.

"Give up, knight," Leygance frowned, "I do not wish to spill needless blood."

"The Lycian Army knows your plots, General! Lord Roy is coming for your head!"

Spitting in Leygance's face, Canaan dropped his axe and lunged for the general's sword; fighting for control over the blade, Canaan was so intent on his goal that he did not see as Leygance drew a dagger with his now-free hand. Plunging the small blade into Canaan's belly, the Ostian general sliced quickly sideways, immediately staining Canaan's tunic a dull red. The man's eyes widened in shock as Leygance quickly seized the moment and wrenched his sword away from the knight. With unresponsive eyes, Leygance plunged the longer blade into Canaan's stomach, kicking the man over as he did so. Satisfied with his victory, the general withdrew his blade and wiped it on the dying man, thinly smiling.

"Then let this be a message to Lord Roy."


	12. Unrestrained Monster

**Unrestrained Monster**

_May 5th, 999 A.S._

_Castle Ostia, Lycian League, Elibe_

The only noise in the dungeon was that of Astol's lockpick within the cell lock. Beside him, the guard lay in a pool of his own blood, felled by one of the short blades at the spy's side. Around him, the rest of the group was positioned in optimal positions to scout for any wandering mercenaries. Though they had dealt with two of the sellswords already, Astol knew that many more lay in the castle above - if one of them wandered into the dungeon without their knowledge, it would spell their doom.

The thief cast a long eye towards the Pheraen lord that stood a short distance from him. Though Astol had never known the young noble on any sort of personal basis, he knew the youth to be one of thought and care. The brave, courageous, and headstrong man he saw before him was not one he recognized.

_'Perhaps war has changed him? After all, he is only fifteen...'_

Shrugging mentally, the spy resumed his activity. Struggling to push the latch down inside the mechanism, Astol was nearly about to pull back for a moment before the trigger finally went down. With a click and a sigh from Astol, the large lock clattered to the floor, the mechanism having been released by the former thief. Smiling as he swung the door open, he bowed. "Lady Lilina, forgive my tardiness. I would have come much sooner were it possible."

The girl's head shot up immediately, her expression brightening. "Astol!" Standing and running towards the spy, she smiled with gratitude. "Fret not...can you free Sir Bors as well? I cannot bear to see such a good man remain behind bars like a common criminal."

"As you desire, Milady." Astol went to work on Bors' cell lock, knowing that the knight was anxiously pacing behind the large wooden door.

"Lilina," Roy's hushed tone drifted through the darkness, "are you alright?"

"R-Roy?" The Ostian princess made her way to the Pheraen, who looked immensely relieved. "I'm fine but...what are you doing here?"

"No time to explain but suffice to say that we're making our way out of here." Roy looked back towards Astol, "Astol, how much longer until we ascend?"

"As soon as I free Sir Bors, Lord Roy. Shan't be long now...aha! Got it!" With a grin, the man swung Bors' door open and the golden armored general strode out, his face stern. "Sir Bors. I'm surprised they kept you in your armor."

"An Ostian knight never parts with his armor, Astol. They would have had to pry my cold body from it before I parted with it." The Ostian knight turned towards his liege lady, despair written on his face. "Lady Lilina, forgive my failure to contain and protect you from General Leygance. After he is dealt with, I shall receive your punishment without complaint."

Lilina shook her head and smiled softly, "oh nonsense. Leygance fooled us all. He fooled you, he fooled Barth, he fooled me...he fooled Father...he'll be the one strung up, Bors, not you."

"Your fairness is your light, Milady." The knight bowed before peering over the dead guard. Swiping the man's sword from his scabbard, Bors let out a deep breath. "It does my heart well to see you, Lord Roy. And you as well Astol. What is our course of action?"

"We go towards the Great Hall," Astol explained as he looked for anything of importance on the guard's person. "There, we will meet up with Matthew and men in Lord Roy's command. Devias is somewhere within the castle...hopefully we can take it and isolate Leygance in the arena."

"Isolate him?"

"Between Barth and Zealot in the city, the Lycian Army outside the walls, and us in the castle, Leygance will have nowhere to run."

Lilina clenched her fist, "and that will allow us to capture the traitor. Bors," her knight turned to her, "I want Leygance taken alive. He must pay for what he has done...but legally. I won't stain Father's city with wanton violence."

"Of course Milady."

The group, newly energized by Lilina's words of conviction, made their way to the dungeon's entrance. Following Marcus' cautious approach, they emerged in the castle to a surprising scene. Around them, Dieck's mercenaries stood in a circle around the entrance to the dungeon; though it was hard to make it out through the men, Roy noticed small pools of blood behind the wall of flesh and steel. Nodding to Matthew and Dieck as he came through the door, Roy could not have felt more relieved.

"Dieck, Matthew," Roy smiled, "to say I'm pleased that I'm encountering you and not Leygance's men would be an understatement."

"We surfaced a bit sooner than we planned, sir," Deick looked to his stained blade, "we encountered a small group of mercenaries almost immediately but it was nothing to worry about. We made our way here and have been waiting for you to surface since."

"Any wounded?"

Matthew nodded, "none killed, thankfully. A few gashes here and there. Father Saul took care of most of them. We tried to drag most of the bodies here, so as to keep them out of sight."

"Matthew," Lilina passed through the door, a wave of relief on her face, "oh, seeing your face brings me much joy."

"Funny, Master Roy said the same just a few moments ago," a sheepish smile before a frown. "Forgive me Milady. Lord Hector would be most cross with me had he discovered I waited so long to rescue you."

"All is well Matthew."

"Sir Bors, I apologize. I witnessed your...altercation with Leygance. I could have tried to take him out at that moment but..."

Bors nodded, "it was for the best, Matthew. You're more valuable to Lord Hector and Ostia alive than you are dead."

"My sentiments exactly. So," the spy patted the blade at his side, "shall we go find Leygance and pay him back?"

* * *

><p>Edward sat on the hard dirt, his legs crossed under him; though his eyes were shut, he knew Eris was beside him on his left and Wallace to his right. It had been nearly four candlemarks since the tournament started and as it crawled closer to the fifth, Edward could feel his apprehension building. The death of Sir Canaan had sent the rest of the allied knights into a relative panic, calling for Leygance's head until Mark calmed them; nonetheless, tensions were high among those in the Lycian Army, and Edward was no different.<p>

Mark shuffled back and forth, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. After Canaan was carried out on a sled and not of his own accord, the tactician had fallen mostly slightly, only speaking to assuage his men. After maneuvering his most elite warriors up the line (many were more than happy to fall back and get a better crack at exhausted warriors), he had moved the deployments and changed them. Though Edward was initially supposed to enter with Alan and Lance, he was to walk in with Eris and Wallace on his flanks; the Pheraens were to enter with Zealot's two direct subordinates, Treck and Noah, and a Tuscan warrior.

"Edward," Mark looked up, "better stand and stretch. It seems you're due."

The Caelin knight stood and stretched, yawning as he did so. Deciding to conserve his energy instead of standing around, his legs had somehow not fallen asleep under him. Walking forward with his four other companions - two of the last of Zealot's men joined them - Edward was hailed over by an official.

"In the room behind me, any weapons you have on your person will be confiscated or given to an outside ally of yours. Also in that room is an armory - all the weapons are iron, are sharpened, and you may choose as many as you so desire. If you wish to turn back now, this is your last opportunity...none? Courageous all. Now," the man gestured to the large wooden door behind him, "enter and choose wisely."

With a curt nod, Edward set off behind Eris, eyes opening with some amazement at the incredibly large armory that lay within. Rows upon rows swords lay in racks, hundreds of spears rested against the wall, and axes hung from hooks that were imbedded in the stone. Bows, though far fewer than the other weapons, were stacked in the corner beside a large pile of shields. There were also other different weaponry inside the room; rapiers, katars, claymores, and jousting lances all sat in different racks, greatly enhancing the selection along with other exotic weapons that were available.

An official made his way over and gave the five knights a physical pat down, confiscating any weapons he encountered. After a few moments of explaining some of the weapons, he nodded and withdrew from the room, carrying a crate of confiscated daggers, swords, and axes with him.

"Well, laddie, better choose your arms then. C'mon lass," Wallace clapped Eris' shoulder, "I'll need your help puttin' some o'these weapons on me armor! Wahaha!"

Shaking his head and smiling, Edward immediately headed towards the short swords. Any knight who did not carry with him a sidearm was a foolish one and, although the spear was his preferred weapon, his capacity with the blade was increasing and he could certainly trust his skill with the blade more than his skill with the axe. After inspecting the sword for any imperfections, he fastened the scabbard to his left hip before walking towards the shield. Though he did not often use a shield, favoring the mobility he had and the different angles he could utilize with both hands, Edward had a hunch it would be useful. Digging through the iron and wooden shields, it took a few moments before the Caelin knight found the one he desired. Iron and with a dip in the iron at the elbow and hand, Edward read the description on the back of the shield.

"Pelta..."

Not knowing the origin of the unusual piece of armor, the knight shrugged and strapped it to his left forearm with a leather strap, grabbing a metal bar placed to stability. The dip in the armor left his elbow and exposed, with the two rounded points of the shield hanging over his hand. The unusual design caused Edward to verbally wonder the point of such a device.

"It's so you can do this, son," Wallace walked over and placed a lance in Edward's hand. "Hold your hand up in front of you, like that, now place your spear on the curve and...there. They're designed for you to be able to stab forward without making yourself too vulnerable."

"I see...brilliant. I've never seen such a shield before."

"They're common in the west and were used in Etruria for years." Wallace grunted and he hefted his large axe up. A thick blade rested at his hip, as did another smaller axe. "You seem to be ready laddie. Lass? You ready?"

"Yes sir," Eris nodded, grabbing her lance. The female had two bucklers attached to her forearms, likely used in conjunction with the swinging and stabbing patterns of the spear. Along with Wallace and Edward, a thin blade rested at her hip. "I can feel the tension of the arena even in here."

"Coliseums like these are awful places, Eris," Wallace frowned as the Ilian men joined them, "they show people's bloodlust and desire for violence. No God would ever smile upon such action."

"Even so, perhaps we should give them something to truly cheer about," One of the Ilian knights stated. "We'll send Leygance and his bastard dogs straight to hell. God will surely smile upon us for that."

Edward nodded as they walked out the large gate to the arena, "Amen."

The large empty plain was something that Edward did not expect. He wasn't quite sure what he did expect but the desolate flatness that lay before him was fitting for a place of death. Before the five knights stood five other knights. Three men stood around two others, their armor bright and decorated, causing Edward to guess that they were nobility. In the center of the small line stood two other men; one was garbed in leather and jagged gray armor, blood staining his clothes. On the man's breast was an emblem that the knight did not recognize; assuming that it was the crest of the Bloodtooth Knights, it didn't take Ed too long to guess that this was Erde. To Erde's left, and in the center of the line, stood General Leygance himself. Clad in purple armor with a white cape, the Steward of Ostia cut an impressive sight, particularly with blood splattered across the brilliant purple.

_'Canaan's blood among it...'_

"Leave the damn dog to me, lads," Wallace murmured, "I will show him the true power of fear."

"Of course Lord Wallace," Eris mumbled, "Edward, you are taking the mercenary, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well then, you two, let's split the final three up."

Drawing closer, the allied group changed their order to stand across from their opponents. An official stood between the two sides, raising his hand in the air.

"Gentlemen and lady, anything goes in this battle. You are to show your opponent mercy and should they so choose to decline it and fight to the death then deal them death before it's dealt to you. Should any unapproved weaponry be used, you shall be terminated from the tournament. Are all the combatants ready?"

"Aye."

"Then..." the man darted to the side, circling his arm in a whirlwind, "engage!"

Edward hopped forward, darting to the left and the right quickly, his opponent bouncing on the balls of his feet. Stabbing upward with his spear, Erde twisted his shoulders to avoid the blow; swinging his shield, the mercenary brought his own circular one up to block. The metals clanged together, the impact causing Edward to jog off to the right of Erde. The Caelin knight circled back around before hopping in the air, his spear stabbing downwards with much force. Caught by surprise, the captain raised his shield too low as the speartip directly struck the center of the iron; the blow caused the sellsword to fall off balance, backstepping quickly to avoid tripping over himself.

Edward pursued quickly, quickly taking to the offense. Though the mercenary held a distinct size advantage over the relatively lithe Caelin knight, Edward did not cease on the offensive. Every stab from the Lycian was narrowly dodged by the Bern mercenary, every blow narrowly blocked. When Erde was able to go on the offensive, his attacks were effortlessly blocked or avoided before the mercenary captain was quickly forced on the defensive once more.

As the men continued their duel, Erde could feel his energy beginning to wane. Unlike the Lycian, he had been fighting for well over four candlemarks, his strength slowly being sapped by every sword swing he made. Seeing an opportunity to strike, the mercenary used his shield to snap Edward's lance, small wooden shards flying into his eye. Wincing, the man ducked behind his shield before the action was returned by the Lycian; holding the useless wooden shaft in his hand, Erde whipped the shaft at Edward before drawing his blade. The two resumed their battle before Erde's head was snapped backwards by a strong elbow from Edward, sending the captain wheeling backwards.

The man shook his head in anger before charging forward, blade flashing in an overhead cut. The two cut at one another relentlessly, their shields coming into contact more than once before a sharp elbow from Erde sent Edward wheeling backwards. Ducking under a swing from the man's shield, circling back around the man and hopping as he had down before, stabbing downward with as much force as he had at the start of the bout. With the sword's much shorter center of balance and greater momentum, the blow caused Erde to stumble backwards; Edward seized the opportunity this time, rushing forward and kicking out with his right foot, knocking the captain over, sending his shield falling to the side.

"Get up," Edward took off his helm, the heat getting to him. The cheers of the crowd at this latest development spurred him onward. "Get up mercenary!"

Crawling forwards for a moment, the captain was knocked off balance once more by the knight throwing his shield at him. Yelling, he ran over and grabbed the broken end of Ed's lance and used it in combination to his sword. A vicious upward cut was dodged by the Lycian, as was another; slicing out horizontally with the broken lance, Erde watched as Edward ducked under the blow, turning on his heel as he sliced into the man's unprotected thigh. Grimacing yet not giving up, the former Bern knight circled his blows, allowing the momentum of one attack to flow into the other. Though Erde's offensive was fast and vicious, Edward's stout defense held true, dodging and blocking the attacks as they came. Cutting at Erde's head with his sword, Edward was forced to lift his leg and toss it over the other, spinning away from the vengeful mercenary.

Erde drew in haggard breaths, glaring at Edward. "It has been a long time since I've met an opponent so able! Speak your name and let it be your last!"

Edward himself drew in deep breaths, tired by the constant movements that Erde forced him to perform. "Dead men need not know the names of the living, dog!"

Roaring, Erde started forward, relentlessly cutting and stabbing towards Edward, who moved backward to allow the man's offense to lull. Every blow was blocked, every stab batted away and it was only once Edward managed to throw his shoulder into the captain's chest did the offensive cease. Gasping, the mercenary stabbed slowly with the spear, where it was seized by Ed; cartwheeling his arms as he dodged another sword sweep, the young knight jammed the spear tip into Erde's shoulder. A yell came as the man sunk to his knees, the injury instantly causing the adrenaline to stop his movements.

Edward held his blade to the man's neck. "Yield."

Gasping and panting heavily, the man shook his head slowly. "My contract is to the death..."

Stabbing out slowly with his blade, Edward effortlessly batted it away before stabbing his own sword into the man's throat. Emerging from the other side of his neck, the man's eyes widened in pain before he fell over, words dying as blood poured forth. Without a word, the captain of the Bloodtooth Knights passed on to the world of the dead.

Turning slowly, Edward looked at the remaining competitors. The two Ilian knights had already fallen, leaving only Eris and Wallace left standing. Before he could assist his allies, however, Eris disarmed her opponent, knocking him to the ground and causing him to submit. The same could not be said of Wallace, however; the great Caelin knight's weapons could not withstand the brute strength that he wielded. Shattering the shaft of his axe after a mighty blow to Leygance's shield, the Caelin general held his hands in the air.

"You win, you dog," Wallace raised his visor before looking towards Edward and Eris. "Sorry kids, looks like it's time for my nap."

Edward nodded as the official ran forward, inquiring about the status of their weapons. "Eris, you alright?"

"Yes," she nodded before waving off the man, "he was so quick! I wasn't overly impressed."

"How lucky," Edward related that he needed a new lance, "I'm jealous."

"Difficult?"

"Extremely. I thought I was going to lose. I got lucky because he wasn't the sturdiest of men." The young knight sniffed and ran an armored finger over his upper lip. "Do we turn on Leygance as soon as Alan and Lance come through those gates?"

Eris leveled a look at Leygance, who glared at the two, "I thought that was the plan."

"Well, get ready then because here they come."

As soon as the Pheraen and Ilian knights made their way towards the field, Edward noticed that Leygance froze. Perhaps realizing that the odds had finally turned on him, the general raised a hand in the air.

"Defend me, my soldiers!"

As soon as the general raised his hand in the air, men sitting in the front rows of the arena started to climb over the walls that separated spectator from gladiator; recognizing some of them as men who had been eliminated from the tournament some candlemarks earlier, the allied knights quickly joined with their peers. Wallace himself, having almost exited the stage, rushed back towards his younger companions, roaring as he did so.

"Form up kids, make a circle!"

As more men poured over the arena's dividers, Leygance began to retreat. Waving a hand towards an unknown man, the Ostian general gave a grin to the Lycian knights. Within an instant, a horse was made available as the steward mounted and rode off, only a sword on his person. As he retreated behind a gate that led away from the coliseum, a score of heavily armored knights formed up behind him. Behind the small force, Edward noted, stood a robed man and a dozen other armored Ostians.

"Surely," Alan bore his teeth as he felt his back press up against Edward's, "one of our allies has seen what is happening."

Lance stood beside him, hands gripping a spear. "Yes. Reinforcements shall relieve us shortly."

"I estimate there are perhaps eighty, ninety men here..." Noah frowned, "there's seven of us. We must kill twelve to even the odds."

"Even the odds!?" Wallace boomed beside him, "bah! They'd better bring a hundred more men if they'd even hope of taking one of us out!" The aging general had collected Leygance's lance - in his haste and desire to retreat, the Ostian general had tossed the weapon to the side.

"Let us hope someone witnessed Leygance's flight...if he retreats to the castle and Master Roy has not shored up his position..."

Lance frowned, "then he is in grave danger. We must fight through this then." The Pheraen knight noticed that a group of Ilian knights had formed up in the entrance behind them, though they wouldn't reach them before Leygance's men attacked.

As the man charged towards the small group, Treck yawned, "bother. I was hoping I would get to relax today too."

* * *

><p>Roy spun to the left, his blade flashing as he stabbed forwards. The mercenary's eyes widened as the thin blade sunk into his stomach, emerging from his back as the noble pushed forward. Slamming the man into the stone wall at his back, Roy twisted his blade before withdrawing it, pushing his forearm into the man's neck; releasing the pressure on the warrior's throat, the mercenary slumped down, his eyes quickly losing color as blood poured forth from his abdomen.<p>

Growling, the Pheraen turned around; spotting Dieck fending off two men, Roy stepped forth and engaged the smaller of the two. Wielding a blade with some skill, the swordsman met Roy blow for blow, parrying and striking as the two locked blades. Kicking out with his foot, Roy struck the man in the stomach; as the man bent over to regain his wind, the noble slammed his knee into the mercenary's nose. Blood instantly shooting from the broken cartilage, the man's head was punished even more as a vicious left hook connected with the man's jaw. Spinning wildly, the swordsman had no guard for a deadly thrust into his unprotected side; withdrawing the blade almost as quickly as he had entered it, Roy turned to pursue further action when his retainer stopped him.

"Lord Roy," Wolt held a hand on his friend's arm, "cease my lord! You are inflicting a great deal of destruction on the enemy! You mustn't put yourself too much into harm's way!"

The redhead frowned, "I'm fine Wolt. I'm clearly in no danger."

"Sire..." the archer frowned, "you have struck down more men than Sir Marcus, Rutger, and Matthew combined!"

Roy raised an eyebrow at that statement, "how many have I downed, Wolt?"

The young man shrugged, "I haven't kept an exact count but easily a dozen sir, but possibly more."

"A dozen..." The man looked at his rapier, which was coated in red. "Where is Lilina?"

"I believe she went towards the armory, sir...something about a tome?"

Roy spun on his heel, "alone!?"

"I believe that...no wait, Sir Matthew is here...oh no..."

Roy didn't wait for Wolt to finish his sentence. How had no one noticed that Lilina was gone!? Didn't anyone have any eyes!?

_'Then again,' _he thought, _'I was too busy letting my hatred for these men interfere with my wisdom as well...'_

Making his way through the halls mostly on memory, the noble hurried when he heard a clatter of metal ahead. Kicking open the door to the armory, he brandished his sword as soon as he entered. To his surprised, however, Lilina stood with a shield in her hands; a noticeable dent lay in the metal, likely coming from the skull of the man who lay at her feet, dazed but very much conscious.

"Lilina!"

She looked at Roy, hands instinctively bringing her makeshift weapon to her chest, "Roy!"

"Er..." The teen looked at the confused Ostian soldier, "who is this?"

"One of Leygance's men," she nudged him with her toe, "I recognized him from when I was fed. I'm sorry Roy...I only was trying to find a magic tome..."

He smiled, "you're fine, so that's all that matters right?"

"Hnnnng..."

Roy looked at the man, "if you don't want to have my blade in your chest, I suggest you tell me where Leygance is."

The soldier, a man who could not have been older than Dieck, blinked a few times. "He's...not here...at arena..."

"What about Devias?"

The man looked at Lilina, "he's in the barracks...he told me to go see what all the commotion was about...and why patrols haven't returned...who are you?"

The man's question was met by a swift boot to the temple; stepping over the unconscious man, Roy sheathed his sword. Watching as Lilina dug through a number of books (all of which looked the same to him, really), the young knight smiled as she held up a tome. "Find what you were looking for?"

"Mhm!" With a childish grin, the girl held the tome close to her chest, "I may not be as fast as you or Matthew or as strong as Wendy or Bors but I do like magic!"

"I don't think I'll ever understand your fascination for magic..." Roy shook his head, grinning as he did so. "Let's go track down Devias."

"Wait!" A voice from behind caused them to turn. Wolt and Matthew stood there, both slightly out of breath. "You can't go alone, young masters."

"Sorry milord," Wolt shrugged, "I fetched Sir Matthew as soon as you departed."

"No, no," Roy shook his head before gesturing for the two to follow, "it was good of you to do so. Now let's go hunting."

* * *

><p>For many men, their home was where they felt comfortable. It brought peace and tranquility to their lives, a place of respite. No matter what they were doing or what was happening in their lives, home was where they could find warmth, a good meal, and often a good woman to love. It was for these reasons that many men went off to war; to defend their homes and their families, but also because it was their respite. Their homes were their safe zones, places that held a special spot in their hearts.<p>

Merlinus was not one of those men.

As the man sat at his small desk, scanning over the supply lists, a frown settled on his face. The former merchant was so used to finding himself buried in either supplies or paperwork that he felt more at ease at his desk than he did within his own bed. Whether it was running logistics for Mark or eyeing lesser paperwork for Lord Eliwood, the advisor felt almost as if he didn't belong unless he was inspecting some sort of paperwork.

It was the sole reason he was inspecting the armory lists at present. For the better part of the day, the older man had inspected his caravan of supplies, ensuring that nothing was misplaced or unaccounted for. Then, going to the individual company commanders, he made sure every man had a suitable weapon. There was no reason for him to be looking over the armory lists now - he knew everything they had, what they didn't have, and who needed what.

Eyes lazily floating over the paper in his left hand, a name stood out to him that he didn't catch before. Brushing over his mustache with his free hand, Merlinus' frown grew deeper as his eyes narrowed. Although most of the items on the list were named for what they were - an iron sword, a steel axe, a bundle of arrows - this item was not named but was described.

_'Lance impaled in wyvern?' _Merlinus frowned, _'why would one of my assistants write it down in such a manner?'_

Debating whether to investigate the matter or leave it be, the steward gave in to his curiosity. Tucking the scroll underneath his arm, Merlinus set off towards the quarters of his assistant. Making his way down the lines of wagons, the retainer hummed a short tune as he did so. Although technically part of the army, Merlinus and his own underlings held themselves separate. Though Merlinus himself was involved in the planning stages and was present during the advisory meetings Mark staged, the only true contact he had with most of the army was through the distribution of supplies and weaponry. Even furthering the distance between Merlinus and his men from the army was the fact that Merlinus' assistants slept within the wagons, as did Merlinus himself.

It was to one of these wagons that Merlinus was heading towards, the song still on his lips, Turning, the man came to his desired location; tapping his knuckles rather loudly on the wooden railing on the back of the wagon, the man could hear movement inside.

"Donald, could I have a word with you?"

The shuffling came faster as the man stumbled outside, his thin chest bare for the older man to see. "Mister Merlinus! I apologize, I was...busy with something. What can I do for you?"

"Donald," Merlinus held the list towards the young man, his finger pointing at the line from before, "what item is this?"

"Exactly what it says it is, Mister Merlinus."

Merlinus frowned, "when did we acquire this?"

Donald stepped down from the wagon, landing softly beside his boss. "Right after Araphen, I believe. I think one of the Lycian soldiers gave it to us as part of our inventory check."

"And this was how the man said it was?"

"Yes sir. In fact," the man pursed his lips, "I believe it was that captain from Araphen who gave it to me."

"Captain Canaan?"

"That sounds like the man, yes."

Merlinus frowned once more. The Araphenian knight was within Ostia and the older retainer had no intention of waiting for him to return. "Well, you stored it alongside the other lances, correct?"

"Yes sir," Donald nodded, "in fact, I set it off to the side. It's a very unusual lance. It looks rather old. Has gold inlayed in it on the shaft."

Merlinus nodded slowly, "thank you Donald. Carry on with...whatever it was you were doing."

Making his way down the line, Merlinus pondered why he hadn't noticed such a lance before. So enveloped in his own thoughts, the man nearly ran head on into a knight who was inside the wagon. Shaking his head, Merlinus' ever present frown reared its visage once more.

"Sir knight," Merlinus cleared his throat, "if you wish to acquire any weaponry from the armory, I suggest you go to your superior for a request."

"Er," the knight in question turned around, "sorry Merlinus. I forgot how much of a stickler you were about keeping stock and inventory."

"Oh!" Merlinus smiled then, "Sain! I apologize. But you know, as I always say-"

"Unaccounted for losses are deaths on the battlefield, I know." Sain grinned, "I still think you got that from Mark somewhere."

The retainer shook his head, "oh no, I assure you, it is all my own. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Not in particular," Sain shook his head, "just figured I would stick my nose in here and see if you have anything good. Doesn't look like you do, however."

"Usually, no. However, I am looking for a certain lance. Since you're already up there, can you look for a relatively old lance? One of my clerks stated there's gold inlayed on the shaft."

The Caelin knight blinked, "gold? That's an awful expensive thing to have lost track of, Merlinus."

"Oh trust me Sain," Merlinus shook his head, "if I had known about it, I wouldn't have lost it."

"Well...hold on, give me a second..." The knight disappeared into the covered wagon, where his heavy footsteps were followed shortly by the knocking of wood and clanging of metal as Sain shifted the spears around. Merlinus waited patiently, ears perking up when he heard Sain's voice from the inside. "I don't see anyth-...wait. Hold on. What's this?" A shuffling sound was heard before Sain's voice drifted back. "Oh my."

"What is it?"

Footsteps were heard as Sain's head poked itself out from the wagon. "Come take a look at this."

Merlinus climbed up the two-step ladder on the back of the wagon, setting the paper on the wooden railing as he did so. Brushing aside the canvas of the wagon's covering, Merlinus' eyes followed Sain's finger. Sitting at the bottom of a pile of steel lances rested the spear in question.

Nestled between the economical lances beside it, the spear was a marvel to behold. The wooden shaft of the spear was inlayed with gold; the gold crawled from the butt of the lance to the head, where it formed a small ring around where the shaft connected to the head. Looking at the butt of the lance, Merlinus saw that the entire head made its way down the entire shaft; the metal head was one piece through the entire lance, with the long metal rod in the center having been covered by the thick wooden shaft, helping to strengthen the durability of the lance without making it extraordinarily heavy. What was truly unusual about the lance, however, was the head; although most spears were merely one point to increase the ability to penetrate, this lance possessed three points, almost forming a bent cross. Merlinus felt as if he had seen the lance before, but he couldn't place where.

"Rex Hasta..." Sain mumbled beside him, "this was Oswin's lance."

The merchant looked to his friend, "didn't Sir Oswin perish at Araphen?"

"Aye." Sain nodded, "killed by a dragon. He gave his lance to Lord Hector, who used it to kill General Narshen's wyvern, apparently. How on earth did you acquire this?"

Merlinus shrugged, "Captain Canaan of Araphen brought it to my assistant, who checked it in. I guess the captain stated it was a 'lance impaled in a wyvern'. It makes sense now, I suppose."

"The metal in this lance is the same metal that was used in Raven's Regal Blade, Geitz's Basilikos, and Rath's Reinfleche. Lord Athos, apparently, stated that they were crafted in times before he even was alive. The metal composition is lost to us now and it's a shame it is." Sain shook his head, "Sir Oswin once said that it was able to pierce through the steel plates of an Ostian knight's armor with almost pathetic ease. Look how immaculate it is - no rust, no chips, no dings, nothing."

"Perhaps I should place it within my personal quarters then."

Sain nodded, "I would. You don't want to risk one of your assistants accidentally giving it away to someone who doesn't know how to use it."

"Could you hand it to me, Sain?"

Digging the weapon out from under the other spears, Sain gently handed the polearm to Merlinus who felt the weight nearly instantly. Making his way down from the wagon, the merchant was surprised to see a young knight looking towards the two veterans.

"Sir Sain!"

Sain hopped down the from wagon's platform, landing with a slight clang of armor. "What can I do for you?"

"There are messengers from the Etrurian Army! Sir Paris has requested your presence for parley!"

Sain frowned then, worry setting into his face immediately. Nodding to Merlinus as the man set off, Sain turned to the page. "The Etrurian Army? Are they close?"

"They are on the other side of the city. A ways off but close enough that it will be a short ride for our men to engage."

Sain frowned deeper, "where is Sir Paris?"

"Outside of his tent, sir, awaiting your arrival."

"Thank you," Sain nodded, "you're dismissed, soldier."

Jogging towards his tent, which lay not far from him, the Caelin knight acquired his horse. Raised in the brutality of the Ilian winter, Strahl was a mighty steed, certainly the strongest horse Sain had ever ridden. Though not as agile or as small as his other mounts he had throughout his life, Strahl easily overcame what little speed it lost with its pure size and power. Perhaps stronger than even the vaunted Pheraen war mounts, Strahl was still faster than most heavy cavalry horses, giving Sain quite a unique partner to work with.

Making sure a blade was strapped to his waist and an axe to Strahl's saddle, Sain mounted the horse and led it towards Paris' quarters. Waiting for him next to his own horse was the Thrian noble, alongside two other men. Recognizing one of them as Paris' lieutenant, Sain knew not who the other was but saw a Tuscan crest on his breast. Nodding to the other three men, Sain waited as the three mounted before they following Paris.

"Etrurian messengers? How did Etruria get this close to Lycia?"

Paris shrugged in the saddle, "perhaps they knew that Bern was victorious at Araphen and knew Narshen was heading towards Ostia. Perhaps they wished to capture it before Narshen did."

The Tuscan knight cussed, "damnable Etrurians. I can't stand the lot of them. Between them and Bern, we're nothing but expendable pawns."

"Let us see what they have to say," Paris nodded towards the wide open plain, "they indicated they wanted to meet in the most open and flat grounds possible. If need be, we'll strike them down or retreat without risking any major problems."

The short ride to the plains of western Ostia were quiet, filled with anticipation. As they drew closer, the forms of four Etrurian riders were spotted, numbering the same as the Lycian delegation. Though four was the standard number for parley, it was not unusual for generals to bring one or two more extra men, in an attempt to intimidate the opposing side or, if need be, strike them down.

_'At least with these Etrurians,' _Sain noted, _'they seem to believe in the rules of chivalry.'_

Eventually slowing at what was deemed a reasonable spot to meet, Sain's eyes widened as the Etrurians came closer. "By Elimine..."

Paris looked over, "what is it Sain?"

"Those Etrurians, the two in the middle..." Sain shook his head with incredulity, "those are the Generals Cecilia and Percival, the Mage General and Knight General of Etruria, respectively."

Paris nearly fell out of his saddle when Sain said those words. "What? Why are two of Etruria's highest and most powerful generals within Lycia?"

"No idea..." Sain shook his head once more, "but we're about to find out."

The Etrurian riders came close as Sain's vision proved correct. In the middle of two captains, the Mage General and Knight General of Etruria look stoically at the Lycians. Tapping their hands against their breasts, Cecilia slightly bowed her head.

"Knights of Lycia, I am Cecilia, Mage General of Etruria. It is an honor to witness such accomplished warriors."

In turn, the Lycians did the same, as Paris spoke up. "I am Paris, Marquis of Thria and Second in Command of the Lycian Army."

Cecilia blinked then, a frown settling on her face. "Sir Paris, is not the brother of Hector, Orun, the Marquis of Thria?"

Paris shook his head somberly, "my father was...assassinated at the hands of one of Bern's agents. He is no longer with the living. As his heir, I have succeeded him."

"My apologies," Percival spoke from beside Cecilia, "Etruria sends its condolences for the death of your father and for all the deaths of your countrymen."

"Thank you, Knight General," Sain nodded, "but forgive our frankness, why is it you are here?"

"We apologize for arriving without notice," Cecilia spoke, "but our hurriedness was paramount to our plan."

Paris raised an eyebrow, "and what would your plan be, General?"

Cecilia smiled, "to place Ostia within the protection of the Kingdom of Etruria."

To any unlearned man, this would seemingly be a declaration of invasion. To Paris and Sain, however, education and experience brought understanding. Realizing what it was that Cecilia meant, Sain smiled as well. "To say that this is the first piece of good news the Lycian Army has had would be an understatement. Etruria's help and confidence are extremely welcome and are appreciated."

Percival nodded, "Marquis Paris, we understand that you are the lieutenant of this army. Who is your commander?"

"Lord Roy, son of Lord Eliwood, Marquis of Pherae."

Cecilia's eyes widened, "Master Roy is in command?"

"You are familiar with Lord Roy?"

The Mage General nodded, "I tutored him in strategy in Ostia until very recently. Allow us to meet with Master Roy, where we can discuss-"

"Lord Roy...is within Ostia at the moment."

"That is not a problem," Percival said, "we shall keep our army camped to the west of Ostia while we meet with him."

"General Leygance, Steward of Ostia, has risen up in rebellion. Lord Roy is currently within Ostia with some of his closest companions, quashing the revolt."

Percival's eyes widened in surprise, "I see that you have quite the predicament then, sirs. Though we shall not move our army, for fear of consequences, allow General Cecilia and I to assist you through our arms."

Sain nodded, "that is acceptable."

"Lieutenants," Cecilia turned to the other two Etrurians, who had remained silent, "ride back to our army and instruct your commanders to stay where they are and pitch camp. We will dispatch a Lycian messenger should your orders change."

"Yes General." The two men turned and rode back towards the Etrurian camp, leaving Cecilia and Percival as the lone remaining Etrurians.

Setting off back towards the Lycian Army's main camp, Sain and Paris detailed the two Etrurian generals on all the events that had occurred within Lycia in the month since the Kingdom of Bern had initially invaded. Leaving out the presence of Princess Guinevere, it was only once the six knights arrived in the Lycian camp did conversation cease. As soon as they arrived, Sain immediately set off, looking for a certain individual. Finally locating her, the Green Lance waived her over, a smile on his face.

"Miss Thany," the Green Lance flashed one of his famous smiles at the young pegasus knight, "if you would, could you fly over the walls of the city and find Master Mark? Instruct him to open the doors of the city on the southeast entrance to allow our guests in."

The young knight, somewhat embarrassed by the flirtatious tone of the commander, nodded. "Uh, y-yes sir. Right away sir."

Shaking her head as Sain left, the young Ilian headed towards her steed, where he gave her a questioning look. Ignoring the intelligent pegasus, Thany set the flying horse before mounting him and taking to the air. So confused by the Green Lance's actions was she that Thany did not notice a host of wyverns coming in from Ostia's northeastern side, descending as they did so. Though also looking for a man within Ostia, their reasons behind their search were very different from Thany's own and their motives far more deadly.

* * *

><p><em>As you can see, this is my shortest chapter yet. I decided to split Ostia proper up into three separate (four if you include the rest period before) chapters, so as to reduce the word count per chapter. Between the four chapters, the total word count would have emerged somewhere close to thirty thousand words, which is far too great for two chapters (which was my original plan). <em>

_After the Ostian arc is finished, I shall update information on this piece of work accordingly, helping to answer any questions you may have. That being said, enjoy, and hopefully you cannot wait for the fireworks that are about to happen in the next chapter!_


	13. Permission To Die

**Permission To Die**

_May 5th, 999 A.S._

_Ostia, Lycian League, Elibe_

Barth watched as the final man was downed, an Ilian blade piercing the man's chest. Around him, the remnants of the mercenaries hired by Leygance lay dead or dying, their moans being snuffed out by the vengeful Ilians and Ostians. Barth himself had entered the fray as soon as he discovered what was happening within the arena. A company of Ostian knights at his back, the Ostian general crashed into the disorganized sellswords and the treasonous knights who dare called Leygance master; relieving the gallant group that had withstood the brunt of the trap, Ostian and Ilian knights made short work of Leygance's men.

Making his way to the exhausted group of knights, Barth nodded to each as he drew near. To his left, he spotted Zealot astride his horse, spear in hand. The Ilian commander had led a small portion of his Ilians alongside Barth, demonstrating the loyalty the Ilian mercenary company held for their employer.

"Sirs and Dame," Barth held a hand as he drew near, "apologies for coming so late to the fray. Praise be to Elimine that no true casualties were inflicted."

"You came at just the right time, Sir Barth," Alan rubbed his hand, "we were beginning to be overrun."

"Thankfully, we made it when we did then." Barth frowned as he surveyed the battlefield; around him, the crowd cheered and hollered, amazed that a real battle had taken place. "Damn savages. Cheering for a when a man's life is ended."

"Speaking of," Zealot came closer, "I believe that all the men have been struck down. Not a one has been spared."

"Good," Barth waved his lieutenant to him, "Wendy, lead a group of knights out to see if we cannot find Leygance. He's on foot - he couldn't have gotten far."

"General Barth," Edward looked up with tired eyes, "Leygance fled on horseback as soon as the battle started. I witnessed it with my own eyes, sir."

"He's on horseback?" Barth looked at the Caelin knight, shocked, "he can't be! He must have had this planned from the get go!"

"Only he was counting on eliminating you and Sir Zealot," Wallace frowned, "he mustn't reach the castle. If he reaches the castle with whatever men he has left..."

"And if Lord Roy hasn't driven out Devias from the castle..."

Barth drove his fist into his open palm, "we must catch Leygance before he reaches the castle!"

"We'll never catch him," Noah shook his head, "he's mounted. We're not. Simple as that."

"No one knows these streets better than I. Leygance rose through administrative means...I patrolled these streets as a marshal before becoming a knight. I can catch him."

Zealot looked at Barth before dismounting, "then take Zodiac. He may seem to be large but he's faster than your average stallion. Hurry Barth."

The Ostian knight nodded in thanks before handing his axe and mace to the Ilian commander; hoisting himself in the saddle, the general fixed his axe to his belt before holding his morning star in his left hand, right on the reins. Not wasting a moment, the blue armored knight kicked the horse into motion. It was but a few moments before he passed through the same gate Leygance did, already planning the route he would take to catch the Ostian steward.

* * *

><p>Dieck ducked under a thin blade, the sharp edge narrowly missing the top of his head. Pushing forward with his shoulder, the capable mercenary created a bit of distance between himself and his foe before bringing his large blade off to the side. Using the flat end of the sword to harmlessly pass his opponent's sword to the side, Dieck brought the large sword off forcefully to the right; immediately moving the tip the ground, the man immediately changed direction, viciously cutting upwards. Though relatively unharmed by the first strike, the mercenary in front of him was felled by the second, a gaping divide running down his torso.<p>

Spotting a group of three mercenaries rushing towards him, the large man blocked immediately upwards, deflecting an axe chop as he did so. Instinctively stepping to his right, Dieck watched as a short sword stabbed harmlessly in the air beside him. Shooting his blade to his left, Dieck took the leg of the man in front of him before blocking a large axeman's blow; struggling under the man's power, Dieck noticed the swordsman readying another strike and knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. Frowning, the mercenary prepared himself for the blow that never came.

Splattered with blood, the former pit fighter nodded in appreciation. Behind the imposing swordsman stood Rutger, his sword red with the man's blood; the red nomad silently nodded as his wicked sword bit into the axeman's side, drawing a fresh line of blood. Howling in pain, the man's offense shattered, allowing Dieck to break the stalemate. Between Rutger's biting blade and Dieck's colossal blows, the giant of a man fell underfoot, nearly half a dozen sword wounds inflicted upon him.

"Thank you," Dieck sighed, "I thought I had bit off more than I could chew."

Rutger frowned, "of course you didn't. You would never."

The mercenary shook his head as Rutger headed off once more, sword slicing through the air as it carved more of Leygance's men. "Well aren't we chipper today?"

Though outnumbered roughly two to one, the battle against Leygance's men was going well. Roy's small force had almost solely encountered the mercenaries hired under the general's name. As they began to dwindle off, the Lycian Army's chosen companions found themselves in a slight respite.

"Men," Dieck called to his own mercenaries, "are you all okay?"

"A pretty nasty cut on my leg, Cap'n," one man called out, "but otherwise I think we're alright."

Bors looked around the rest of the allied soldiers, nodding approval. "I believe we're all in one pi-wait. Where's Lady Lilina?"

"Master Roy as well," Marcus said, immediately frowning.

"The two set off towards the barracks - Matthew and Wolt followed him." Astol nonchalantly stroked his beard. "I saw them leave not too long ago. It was too busy for me to really say anything until now."

"Should we set off after him?"

"I'm not quite sure if we have the time," Saul intoned, his heal staff glowing as he healed a cut on one of Dieck's men. "Look towards the front of the hall."

All eyes converged towards the front of the grand hall, some widening in surprise. Assembling near the open doors was the remainder of the mercenaries; accompanied, however, by the rank and file Ostian knights who had joined Leygance and betrayed Hector. Though only half of the knights were true infantry, the other half were once part of the vaunted and glorified Steel Guard. Outnumbered three to one against a much more formidable opponent, the Lycians realized their true test awaited them. The waiting group nervously shuffled amongst themselves until a ragged voice started barking.

"Sir Bors," Marcus yelled, "anchor the line in the center. Dieck, have your men allay outwards from Sir Bors - Ward and Lot, you shall cover the ends. Rutger, Dieck, you two shall move along the line, ensuring we are not flanked. Lady Clarine, support them. Master Lugh, Miss Dorothy, line behind our men and attempt to cause as much damage as you can. Father Saul," Marcus growled, "support us from the rear with your holy magic and your staff. Master Astol," the veteran knight looked towards the Ostian, "ensure no one slips past us."

"Where will you be, Sir Marcus?"

The venerable knight grinned slightly, "I will be directly in the center, where the most action shall be. Form up!"

* * *

><p>As the Lycian force began to move, Dieck moved beside Rutger. Nodding to the Sacaen, the mercenary nearly allowed himself to grin as the scarlet-clad swordsman stood protectively in front of Clarine. Readying his weapon, the Western man waited with bated breath as the enemy drew near. With a mighty yell, Dieck helped to push the charge forward, his mighty blade leading the way.<p>

"You did well," Mark smiled softly at his tired champions, "you held off scores of men by yourselves for a good deal of time."

Alan shook his head tiredly, "credit Sir Wallace for holding our line. He single handedly challenged five men to combat."

"If these damn mercs think I'll bend my knee to them, they gotta 'nother thing coming!" Wallace grinned, "though, I admit, I'm not as spry as I once was. I once would've been able to eliminate the entire lot o' them!"

"Sadly," Mark smiled wider, "he's not fibbing. I once had the pleasure of commanding both Sir Wallace and Sir Oswin on the field - together, they formed an unstoppable force and an immovable object, all at the same time. Nonetheless...I think I found a new elite unit."

Mark nearly continued before a shock of blue hair caught his eye. Turning slowly, the tactician barely had time to register what his eyes saw before the individual bounded in front of him.

"Master Mark," Thany nearly yelled, "I have orders from Sir Sain!"

Mark smiled, "well, let's hear them, Thany."

The young pegasus knight nodded eagerly, "Sir Sain requests for you to open the main gate of the city in the southeast to allow Mage General Cecilia and Knight General Percival of Etruria to enter the city."

"Wait," Mark's head shot up as the knights around him stirred at Thany's words, "you said Generals Cecilia and Percival are here?"

"Yes. I saw them with my own eyes."

Mark's mind worked at a million thoughts a second, constant scenarios running through his head. Eventually deducing that Sain's judgment was sound and that the two Etrurian generals were likely here to discuss Lycia's future, Mark nodded. "Thany, come with me. Can you fly me to said gate?"

"Of course."

"Then you and I shall head towards there so I can speak with the two generals. The rest of you," Mark turned towards his remaining forces as well as Zealot's men, "shall head towards Castle Ostia, wherein you shall assist Lord Roy's force, if so needed. Hurry to your assignments - we have no time to dally."

* * *

><p>"Get him!"<p>

The sound of footsteps was heard as Roy's group chased Devias. After making their way through the halls towards the barracks, the four had discovered Devias alongside two of his closest knights. Using his own men as a distraction and a speed bump for the Lycians, the former Ostian commander had fled, a wooden shield and a thick blade his only weapons.

Knowing he didn't stand a chance against four opponents, particularly against a skilled mage, the man showed surprising speed as he retreated, nearly losing Roy and company more than once. It was only after the man nearly ran into a dead end did the foursome catch up to him, hot on his heels.

"Sir Devias," Lilina yelled as she sprinted beside the other three, showing surprising endurance and agility, "atone for your crimes and pay heed to the law! There shall be a fair trial!"

"Milady," Devias' haggard voice was heard from ahead, "there are no trials for traitors! My apologies!"

Perhaps the worst situation possible, Devias wheeled off towards the right, exiting the citadel as he did so. Following him, Roy and his companions nearly ran head-on into the waiting spears of what little remained of Leygance's men. Perhaps what stopped the four in their tracks, however, was the sight that awaited them: Devias stood behind a large group of mercenaries and fallen knights, panting heavily but still very much alive and aware of the scenario, his thick blade quickly being accompanied by the heavy shield. Behind the two, the entrance to the castle lay open.

Many moments passed then, as Devias looked torn between his devotion towards Lilina and his loyalty to Leygance. It was only after a few minutes did the armor knight finally speak. Walking towards the four companions, Devias stopped a few feet away, far out of reach of his horse and the exit.

"I am sorry, Master Roy, Lady Lilina. But I must please Lord Leygance. He has called for your head."

"A shame," a voice boomed, "that you must please him in hell!"

Barth came charging in through the exit Leygance had passed through, morningstar in hand. Crashing through the few number of mercenaries assembled, Barth's deadly weapon collided with the head of a man, killing him instantly. Riding behind his liege and her closest ally, Barth quickly dismounted, arming himself with axe and mace.

"My apologies, Lady Lilina," Barth stepped forward, shielding the two lords with his body, "I witnessed Leygance leaving just moments ago and nearly pursued but I simply could not, knowing you and Master Roy were in such dire straits."

"Fear not, Barth," Lilina smiled deeply, "I cannot express enough how valuable you have been."

"Your confidence is not misplace, Milady." Barth looked back at the group, "now, Lady Lilina, ride! Catch Leygance and eliminate him! Master Roy...strike him down! Use Zealot's horse to track that dog!"

Roy wasted no time in mounting Zodiac, helping Lilina up as she nodded gratefully towards her loyal retainer. Kicking the horse into action, Roy and Lilina sped off, leaving Barth, Matthew, and Wolt to combat the remaining men.

Barth immediately set his way towards the men, axe and mace quickly mauling any who came before him. Behind him, Wolt notched arrow after arrow, each finding its way into any man who attempted to outmaneuver Barth or Matthew. The spy in question darted around the outskirts, hemming in men towards Barth's circle of death - it was only once Devias engaged Matthew did the man retreat, not possessing the strength or weaponry to combat a heavily armored knight.

Barth, however, did.

Quickly setting upon his former comrade with much ferocity, the Ostian commander proved why he was one of Ostia's most respected warriors. Axe and mace relentlessly pounding away at Devias' defenses, the blue armored knight barely gave his one-time contemporary any opportunity at an offensive. Though Devias was able to deflect Barth's axe with his heavy blade, the same could not be said of the mace. Barth's deadly morningstar was narrowly avoided or was perilously blocked by the wooden shield, where in it caused Devias' arm to go numb every blow. It was only once Devias managed to formulate somewhat of an offense did the arm regain any sort of feeling.

Swiping away a cut from Devias with his axe, Barth growled at the orange armored knight before him. "Devias, you dog! How could you ever serve Leygance over Lady Lilina!?"

Devias separated himself from Barth, silently noting that Matthew and Wolt had killed the rest of his men while the two knights dueled. "Lord Leygance's acumen and experience far outstrip that of Lilina's! He shall lead Ostia into a golden age, a pathfinder in an uncertain time!"

"You...are truly lost."

Barth set up Devias once more, axe and mace working in unison. Their bout continued, Devias blocking or avoiding most of Barth's blows. However, the tide changed when Barth's morningstar collided once more with Devias' wooden shield. However, on this blow, a shard of wood flew upwards, noticeably catching Barth's eye. Realizing that the shield would not last, the brutal knight began to beat away at the shield, slowly compromising its defenses until the wood finally gave way.

With a scream, the morningstar shattered the shield and broke Devias' arm in one mighty blow; its wicked spikes sunk deep into the knight's arm, likely rendering it useless. Using his other hand, Barth chopped at Devias' blade arm; while the knight was distracted by the immense pain in his other arm, he did not see Barth's attack until it was too late.

Devias' arm flopped to the ground, still grasping the blade even as the nerves were severed. With a yell of shock and a look of terror, Devias collapsed to his knees as Barth yanked his mace free. Looking at his mangled arm and what remained of the other, Devias shook his head in fear.

Looking up at his former companion, Devias shook his head. "I am sorry Barth. Forgive me. I chose the wrong lord."

"Yes, you did." With one final blow, Barth's morningstar shattered Devias' skull.

Coated in the blood of his former comrade, the ever-loyal knight's only thoughts lay with his liege and her current struggle to put down her mortal enemy.

* * *

><p>Nestled deep within the royal city of Bern, the Cathedral of St. Lucas stood silently. Perhaps the gaudiest building within the city, ornately decorated as was the Elimine Church's custom. Standing taller than every building besides Castle Bern, the Cathedral of St. Lucas cast an impressive sight. Marvelous stained windows were strategically placed throughout the church, catching the eye of any who entered; angelic statues rested on either side of the entrances, casting a heavenly appearance. The sight was made even more impressive by the massive spires that jutted upwards from the cathedral; it was believed that the spires on St. Lucas' were even larger than those in St. Ignatius' in Aquleia.<p>

The most notable feature about the building, however, was the large bell tower that sat directly in the center of the church. Very Bern-line in appearance, the tower was simple in design and function. Round in shape and without any true trappings, the tower soared upwards with a small spire on the top; under the spire, open for the city to hear, rested ten magnificent silver bells. Standing taller than a man and wider than a horse's length, the bells of St. Lucas were renowned across Elibe. Called the Bells of Bern, St. Lucas' bells were a staple of Bern life. Heard daily, many religious men and women within Bern chose to use the bells as indicator of when to pray.

Universally loved by the people, St. Lucas' bells were almost eliminated in 986 when King Desmond, known as an atheistic man, attempted to remove the bells. Decreeing that the bells would be removed before the winter solstice, Desmond's popularity plummeted as citizens of Bern, peasant and noble, expressed their outrage. Known, however, for not caring about his popularity, King Desmond persisted; ignoring a request by the Elimine Church not to remove the bells, Desmond even went so far as to attempt to have the Cathedral of St. Lucas demolished and rebuilt in a corner of the city.

Even as people clamored for Desmond to cease his action, no progress was made until Prince Zephiel himself stood against his father. As many of the nobles and government officials started to back his son's cause, Desmond finally relented and decreed that while he would remove the existing bells, he would replace them with newly furnished silver ones. Though Desmond's popularity surged slightly afterwards, all knew it was Prince Zephiel who truly saved the church. It was the first true moment that the people had picked Zephiel over Desmond and it ultimately would not be the last.

Zephiel realized what an important moment the Crisis of St. Lucas was for his legacy. Though he personally did not care for the bells, finding them to be somewhat annoying at times, the King of Bern realized how important they were. It was the main reason he had acted against his father, knowing what such a move would garner immense favor with the people.

Unlike Desmond, who ruled through strength of kingship alone, Zephiel knew how important the people were. Drawing on his readings from the Etrurian Revolt of 439 a great deal, Zephiel ruled through popular demand and imperial will. Any declaration Zephiel gave was met with great enthusiasm because of his popularity; for that reason, the king could decree any action he so wished and it would be supported. The will of Zephiel extended far and possessed great power, especially within Bern.

Therefore, once the king came forward and declared his immensely loved sister, Guinevere, missing, all of Bern rose up in search for her. Though King Zephiel explicitly ordered that no Bern citizen should leave the borders of the kingdom, many had, travelling into Etruria and Sacae, searching for their beloved princess. Although none had seen the Princess of Bern, hope was held high that they would find Guinevere soon.

Zephiel wasn't so optimistic. Knowing that Guinevere had left of her own accord, Zephiel hoped to find his sister but for varied reasons. Though he truly loved Guinevere dearly, he knew that she carried an immense amount of influence; a gifted speaker and a charismatic figure, Guinevere could rally Zephiel's opponents against her brother, creating a united front against Bern. Though he knew Guinevere truly did not wish to harm her brother, he did know that she despised the war and wished an end to it.

It was for this reason that Zephiel knew that his sister was not in Bern. Nonetheless, as he sat on his throne, disinterestedly listening to search captains reporting their finds, he was formulating ideas on how to reacquired Guinevere and bring her home. Listening to the man before him ramble on, Zephiel suddenly had a stroke of an idea then; nodding absent mindedly then dismissing the man with a word of thanks and inspiration, Zephiel watched as a knight walked into the great hall.

Only recently returned from Ilia, General Gale had performed brilliantly in the invasion. Serving as Murdock's lieutenant, the Ilian-born man outshone his primary competition, Narshen; utilizing his men with perfect coordination and showing an innate knack for stratagem, Gale had immensely impressed those above him, with the exception of Narshen. It was only Orer's trust in Narshen's unrealized ability that kept Gale from claiming the title of Dragon General from the other man. Nonetheless, as he continued to serve, many of Bern's senior military generals believed that Gale would eventually be named the third Dragon General.

Clad in deep purple armor with his shocking blue hair swept back, the otherwise unassuming man cast an intimidating air. Though not as large as Murdock or as handsome as Narshen, Gale looked as if he were a dangerous man. Cunning, intelligent, and fierce in battle, to say Gale was competent was not justice to his ability and skill.

"Gale," Zephiel nodded at his general, "returned from Ilia? I have not seen you since you left with Murdock. I congratulate you on your successes - I have heard many great things from Murdock."

Gale bowed low, hair falling over his shoulder. "Your praises are too great for me, Your Majesty. I only perform to serve your name well."

The King of Bern sat silently for a moment before shifting in his throne. Looking at Gale with those dull eyes, he asked Gale a question. "Have Orer or Murdock informed you of your next assignment? Or are you free to command?"

"I received no word from either the Prime Minister or General Murdock, besides report here to you, Majesty." Gale tapped his chest, "besides, I am always free to command for you, sire."

Zephiel nodded, "good. Well then, Gale, allow me to ask a question. You are intimate with Captain Miledy, correct? The lady-in-waiting of Princess Guinevere?"

Gale's cheeks reddened slightly but it went unnoticed by his king. "You are correct, sire."

"I trust you have heard of my sister's disappearance?"

Gale nodded, "I have."

Zephiel tapped a finger to his cheek as he rested his head on his hand. "Your next assignment comes from myself. No one is to alter it besides Prime Minister Orer, should it be in the event of an emergency. You are to take Captain Miledy and fly through Elibe. Search for Princess Guinevere and attempt to return her to me. Should she be in the custody of any of our foes, attempt to use diplomatic means to return her; however, should that fail, you are to report to me, where I shall assemble a mobile task force to aid you in her return. Are my instructions clear?"

"Crystal, sire."

"Good," Zephiel waved a hand towards Gale, "now be off Gale. Time is of the utmost. Requisition any supplies you will need, under my order. Now go."

* * *

><p>The homes and shops blurred all around him as Roy struggled to hold on to the horse under him. Though Roy's own horse, Scipio, was a wondrous animal and one capable of outrunning most other horses, Zodiac was a different breed of beast. Though not as large as Scipio was, Zodiac soared through the streets, moving at an incredible pace. Reminding himself to praise General Zealot on his horse rearing prowess, the Pheraen noble spurred the horse to go faster.<p>

It did not take long for Roy and Lilina to track down the fleeing general; assisted by starstruck Ostian civilians, Leygance was eventually deterred by two pages that served under Barth. After witnessing that he was being pursued, the steward set himself to go quicker, attempting to outrun the two nobles. Witnessing and experiencing Zodiac's speed for himself, however, Roy knew that no such thing would happen. Directly behind Leygance as they made their way down a long alley, Roy shouted over his shoulder to his friend.

"Lilina," the man before them turned to their right, "see if you can stop him with magic!"

As Roy turned down the same way Leygance did, he could feel Lilina's hands moving as she brought forth her magic tome. Hearing her mumble, Roy instinctively ducked his head as Lilina placed a hand on it. Her hands glowing orange as magical runes circled around them, a mighty flame shot itself from her fingertips. Travelling faster than the horses were, the fireball quickly caught up to Leygance; though missing the flame seemingly spooked the man as he suddenly veered to the left before setting himself straight.

As Lilina launched another fireball at the fleeing general, Leygance veered once more. Realizing that perhaps it was not the steward who was spooked, but rather the horse, Roy pointed towards a sign of an inn that lay down the road.

"Lilina, try firing at the sign! See if you can get it to catch fire!"

Nodding wordlessly, the girl behind him began to mumble once more. Feeling the heat of the runes, Roy ducked once more as yet another flame left her hands. Splashing against the wooden sign, the old wooden posts quickly caught fire; connected to a sign across the alley by a rope overhead, the rope caught alight as the flames travelled up the dry wood and fabric. Instantly travelling across the rope's length, the rope was severed as it fell, dropping in front of the horse along with the decorations that hung from it.

The flaming object caused Leygance's horse to instantly rear, its front hooves lifting from the ground; the movement caused Leygance to lose his grip on the reins, falling from the saddle as he fumbled with them. Grunting as he stood, the man realized there was no way he was outrunning his pursuers now. Darting into the inn whose sign was alight, the man disappeared into the wooden structure.

Slowing Zodiac as they drew close, the two teens quickly dismounted, each grasping their weapons. Avoiding the flames as they walked towards the inn, Roy turned towards Lilina, a frown on his face.

"Lilina," the Pheraen held her hand gently, "stay either near the entrance or in the lobby. I'll go after him...make sure he doesn't escape."

Nodding as he spoke, Lilina walked into the doorway before Roy set off, rapier in hand. After checking that the first floor contained no sign of the steward, the noble set off towards the stairwell. Giving a reassuring smile to Lilina, who looked on with bated breath, Roy slowly made his way up the stairs, careful to make sure the cunning general did not attempt a sneak attack.

Making his way steadily down the hallway, the redhead kept his eyes peeled for any sudden movements. Noting how many of the doors in the inn were open to indicate vacancy, the Pheraen lord knew that trouble could lurk behind any one of these openings. As he passed a room, a sudden creak from behind alerted him; raising his sword up blindly to defend, Roy was blindsided as a small wooden chair crashed into him.

Forced off balance and nearly tumbling backwards, the young knight reacted on instinct, throwing his sword up to defend. Marcus' training paid off then, as the sound of steel against steel sounded, as Leygance's blade was checked by Roy's own. Regaining his balance, the noble forced the general's sword away from his own, checking any further advance with a short cut to the right.

"General Leygance."

Leygance shook his head, bemusement on his face. "Master Roy...I will admit, you have thrown quite the knot in my plans."

Roy growled at the steward, "be assured, General, I will do quite a bit more to you now."

"Oho! So the pup shows his teeth! Careful dog," Leygance snarled, "that you aren't able to back up your bark!"

Leygance darted forward, blade chopping downward as the man yelled. Roy brought his saber up, using a spread grip to block the cut better. Leygance kicked out with his foot, creating separation as Roy hopped backwards. Flipping his sword over his elbow and back towards Leygance, Roy struck outwards, blade flashing as it caught the light of the torches. Reverting to a fencer's form, Roy dashed and thrust his blade to and fro, internally smiling as Leygance struggled to counter. Though the mighty general had been taught swordsmanship from a prominent knight, he had not learned how to duel the nobleman's way. As such, the form was foreign to him and he struggled to defend.

Yet defend he did and for every slash and stab that Roy made, Leygance countered or dodged, albeit barely. Nonetheless, by the time Roy had driven the man to the backend of the hall, Leygance nearly had started the offensive. With his back against the wall, the general started to make his own attacks as the two men dueled, each trading blows back and forth. When Leygance had nicked Roy's thigh, the noble made a sweeping cut on the man's bicep; back and forth the two went until Leygance tossed a hard elbow into the teen's cheek. Stunned, it took Roy all of his prowess to defend the coming blows; eventually forcing the steward back, Roy panted heavily as the older man sauntered backwards.

"Your skill..." Leygance panted, still highly tired from his toils earlier in the day, "are not unfounded. Not many men have lasted this long against me."

"Your trust in your abilities are misguided, General," Roy raised his blade once more, "just as your confidence in your intellect is!"

Leygance spat at the knight, "foolish boy! I will ensure Pherae is razed to the ground and the name is lost to history when I put you down!"

Reaching out with his left hand, the elder knight grabbed one of the torches that hung on the wall and whipp it forwards, causing Roy to narrowly avoid the flames. Following the movement with his sword, Roy ducked under the strike to begin a game of cat and mouse. Though Leygance packed nowhere near enough strength to seriously wound Roy with either weapon, the two weapons were swung in conjunction with one another, creating a lack of opportunity for Roy to go on the offensive.

As Roy retreated, he opted to duck into a room, hoping that some of the items within could help him create an advantage. As Leygance pursued, Roy kicked out a chair in front of the man's path; the object did not deter the general, only causing him to swing more wildly in an attempt to strike the noble. As Roy attempted to deflect or dodge every attack, he finally miscalculated and paid dearly; Leygance's torch, still burning brightly from the oils on the stick, struck the teen harshly across the face. Though not catching the knight on fire, the flames wickedly burned the Pheraen heir, sending him sprawling to the side of the room. Leygance stood over the fallen teen, a wicked grin on his face.

"You should know better, Master Roy," the man pointed his sword at the boy's throat, "than to challenge those who are your better."

Roy grimaced, "Leygance," the vicious red marks on the boy's face were sure to be painful but likely would not scar, "through God's power, I shall bury you here!"

The man snorted. "God? Bah! What is a god to a nonbeliever! I will teach yo- AH!"

A fierce flame struck the man then, the flame splashing against his arm. Though unharmed by the fireball, Leygance's hand dropped the torch, where it fell on a mattress in the room, instantly setting it ablaze. Behind the man, Lilina stood, her eyes steeled on her mortal enemy; her hand raised in preparation for another strike, her other clutching her Elfire tome tightly.

"Ah," Leygance bowed in mockery, "our vagrant princess. Swift has your lust for revenge led you here to me. I do not wish to kill you, Lilina, so you will surrender to me. Too late and to their sorrow do those who misplace their trust learn their fate."

Lilina's face darkened in fury, "Leygance! How dare you show your worthless face in my father's kingdom! Your ambition controls you!"

"No," Leygance held up a hand and chuckled, a mad glint in his eye, "the power of ambition is the power of man! A weapon forged by his wisdom and strength, who would challenge the gods themselves! A fitting blade for a true Ostian king."

Leygance smiled thinly at the two, resting the blade of his sword in his hand. "Hector did but pretend the title, a cur begging scraps from his master's table. Hark! Lycia hails her true king, Leygance Solidor! I shall defy the will of the gods and alter the whole of Lycia!"

Lilina shook her head slowly, "you're mad...truly mad..."

"The new Lycia holds no place for the name Lilina. The stain of Roland's blood...shall be washed clean from history's weave."

Darting forward, Leygance's assault was halted by the girl in front of him. Lilina's hands lit up once more as a magical rune circled it, the orange glow quickly melting with the rising flames on the mattress. "Wicked fire, energy of the dragons...lay upon my enemy and burn him to ash! Fire!"

"Too slow, girl!"

Leygance's sword flashed upwards then, the metal of the blade splitting the arcane flame in half. Sending one fireball to the left and another to the right, the flames burned uselessly on either side of the general, quickly eating away at the wooden floor. Trying once more, Lilina's attack was once again deflected in two, as more of the wicked flames ate away at the wooden room. Her hands burning brightly with arcane power, the gifted sorceress launched a large fireball towards the man; narrowly dodged by a rolling Leygance, the fire crashed into a bookcase, where it immediately caught fire.

Standing upright, with a window directly behind him, General Leygance chucked. "There is nothing you can do to stop me, Lady Lilina. I will once again suggest you surrender yourself to me. For only once I am king, and the Lycian Army crushed under foot...will you then have my permission to die."

"Traitor!" Both of Lilina's hands glowed, brightening her face with a righteous wrath. "I will turn you to ash!"

"Lilina," Roy's voice came from behind her, "move!"

Sidestepping to her right, Lilina watched as the heir of Pherae stormed forward, moving full throttle towards the treacherous general. Colliding with enough impact to kill a lesser man, Leygance's eyes went wide as the force lifted him from his feet. His yell sounding similar to a dragon's roar, Roy of Pherae launched the two through the glass window behind Leygance. Lilina watched in horror as the two plummeted downwards, a loud clang being heard as they hit the hard dirt underneath.

Fear gripping her as she realized the room around her was falling apart, the Lady of Ostia made her way through the room, quickly exiting into the hall. Seeing that the flames had spread into the rest of the inn, Lilina hurtled down the stairwell, he feet barely touching the wooden blanks as she nearly leapt downwards. Making her way towards the exit - she noted that the entire ceiling was now beginning to catch fire - Lilina rushed to where Roy and Leygance had fallen, her heart full of dread.

Spotting her fallen friend, she raced to his side, screaming his name. "Roy! Roy!"

"Agh..." the Pheraen turned on his back from his side, his arm bent at an awkward angle. Immense relief fell over her as she noticed that both Leygance's sword and Roy's lay a short distance away, likely lost in the fall. "I'm alright...got the wind knocked out of me..."

Noticing a missing person, Lilina looked around, "where is Leygance?"

"He...got up and moved...ow. Hurry Lilina! He can't get away!"

Looking up, the Ostian princess saw the general ahead, limping away, his arm hanging limp by his side. Knowing she could catch him, she sprinted toward him, chanting as she did so. "Wicked fire, heat of the world...primordial spirit of flame, I beckon you to my call! Burn away all those who oppose your might! Elfire!"

Thrusting her glowing hands before her, two large fireballs left her finger tips. Dancing over one another as they made their way towards the disgraced steward, Leygance stood no change against the threat that lay behind him. Smacking into the general from behind, the fire caught the man's cape, instantly lighting it in a blaze of hellish fury. The flames quickly spread to the man's scalp, his hair being burned away by the arcane fury that Lilina had unleashed upon his mortal being. Screaming in agony as the flames caught his clothes, the man fell to his knees, struggling to undo the straps on his breastplate, attempting to pat out the flames. Assisted by the fire as it ate the straps that held the armor on, Leygance lay on his back and rolled back and forth, eventually successfully putting out the flames that caused him such pain.

As Lilina drew close, she hardly recognized the ambitious general. Though in a short time, the arcane fires of magic burned hotter than any natural fire; searing away his flesh and hair, a skull-like face stared up at his former liege, eyes red with blood. His skull exposed, the man's visage reflected handsomely on his ugly heart.

"I n-never hated you...Lady L-Lilina...I shall apologize...b-before you die..."

Lilina raised an eyebrow, "before I die?"

"General Narshen...was t-to arrive today...with his army...you s-shall all f-fall to his blade..." Lilina shook her head with disgust at the man - even as death drew near, he sprouted constant threats. Writhing in agony at the horrendous burns that scarred what was once his body, Leygance continued. "L-Lady...Lilina..." he reached out feebly to her, his breaths coming in short, "spare me...the agony...show y-your fabled m-mercy, milady..."

"Tell me where Narshen was to meet with you, and only then," Lilina's hand burned an intense orange once more, "will you have my permission to die."

* * *

><p>"Follow me, men," Narshen waived his hand forward, a grin on his face. The man had never been to Ostia and though he certainly preferred Augusta to this backwater city, it certainly was better than the bare capital his king enjoyed! "We are to meet General Leygance in front of the castle."<p>

Narshen's men had landed in the northeastern corner of Ostia, relatively far from where the citadel was. Although it would have been much easier to fly over the city, Narshen couldn't risk being accidentally mistaken by Leygance's men and being filled with arrows. Though the general had promised to withdraw his archers from the Wall of Roland, he did not promise the same of Lion's Hold. Understandably, Narshen was initially not pleased before getting over the matter quickly.

Leading his men through the crowded streets of Ostia, the Bern riders had plenty of enjoyment scaring the Ostian citizens. Though prohibited from attacking or raiding any within Ostia, it would not do to simply allow them to carry on their merry way! The men Narshen travelled with was a relatively small group; the general had left half of his riders at their descent point, whilst the rest travelled with him. Roughly a group of twenty riders, the general felt comfortable that, if Leygance chose to betray him, he could effectively retreat.

As they drew close to the gatehouse of Lion's Hold, Narshen couldn't help but feel uneasy. Drawing it up to air sickness, the man continued onward, his perpetual grin stuck on his face. Noticing a relatively large group assembled at the entrance, Narshen led his men close, hand in the air.

"Ho! I am Dragon General Narshen of Bern! Inform your general, Leygance, that I have arrived!" Shaking his head in disgust, Narshen mumbled to himself. "How dare such a lowly man keep one such as I waiting..."

"General..." Narshen's wingmate spoke to his right, "you may want to look up..."

Narshen looked up from his musing with widened eyes. Before him, a lady stood before the Ostian flag, her eyes burning. To her right, a redhead stood, the Pheraen hawk on his breast. Frowning, Narshen looked to his men. "We go forward slowly, without intimidation. Careful."

Raising his hand in the universal sign of peace, Narhsen moved his mount forward, his men doing the same. Smiling deceptively as he got closer, Narshen noticed that a group of mercenaries stood behind the two, alongside knights of Ostia and Pherae. Realizing that the boy was Roy of Pherae, Narshen held back a snarl.

"General Narshen," the boy Narshen suspected was Roy spoke, "we will take your unconditional surrender."

"Unconditional surrender? Why, surely sir, you thin-"

"Save the formalities, General," Lilina spoke, "you will surrender your arms to the Lycian Army."

"You dare demand my surrender, child?"

Lilina's hand clenched, a dangerous look in her eye, "should you not comply, you shall be hewn down by the combined blades of Lycia. Now lay down your arms, General."

"Pfeh," Narshen spat, "you brats and your backwater army will fall to the blades of Bern. Tooth and nail, we will fight you and we will kill you. One by one, we shall slaughter your men. Your wives? Whores owned by Bern men. Your children? Slaves to die in our mines. Your livestock? Gratefully accepted. Brick by brick, stone by stone, we shall lower this castle. One by one, we will raze your cities to the ground. Slowly, yet surely, we will kill Lycia. Your country shall become ash, bone, and dust. And all for what? To prove your independence? Your independence means _nothing _when you are nothing!"

"How many Bern soldiers are within Ostia, Dragon General? A score? Two score?" Roy of Pherae stood rigidly, "you have no chance of fleeing nor winning this battle. The Lycian Army shall request you lay down your arms only one more time."

"You believe you can stand against a Dragon General of Bern?"

"A man once said to me..." A voice drifted from Narshen's rear, causing the man to turn, "that we are the architects of our own undoing. Truly, Narshen, this wise man was speaking of you."

Seeing an unassuming brunette atop a horse, Narshen snarled. He had heard the same thing from Orer once, he would not hear the same from this paltry man! "Speak, cretin, so I may know which grave to spit on once you are dead."

"I have been known as many things. Master of the East. The Divine Commander. Most know me as the Famed Genius. Who I truly am, however, is Mark of Etruria. Companion to Hector of Ostia and Eliwood of Pherae, Grand Strategist of the Lycian Army. And I will take your surrender at this time."

"Bah!" Narshen shook his head, "why do you keep asking and what makes you believe you are in any position to demand my surrender!?"

"Because," a voice drifted to Narshen's right, "you have been sorely outmatched, outnumbered, and outplanned." To Narshen's horror, the Mage and Knight General of Etruria rode out, Pheraen and Ilian knights at their back. "The League of Lycia and the Kingdom of Etruria have officially allied. We have drug our feet, but the Kingdom of Etruria will not bend her knee while Lycia dies!"

"Damn you! Damn you! Damn you to hell, Cecilia! Damn you Percival! Damn you Roy of Pherae! And damn you Mark of Etruria! You will all rue the day you crossed Narshen of Bern!"

"General Narshen," Narshen's wingman spoke up, "we should retreat sir. Prime Minister Orer must be made aware of what has happened here."

"I am aware you dolt! Agh! Damn you Lycia! I will turn your fucking country into _nothing_! You are all dead! Dead! _Dead! __**Dead!**_"

Yanking harshly on his wyvern's reins, the Dragon General took to the air, his men at his back. Within a fraction of a candlemark, the scourge that was General Narshen was gone from Ostia, never to return in his mortal life.

A noticeable smile came across Roy as Cecilia rode towards him, a soft smile on her face as well. Raising a hand in greeting, the Etrurian general dismounted. "Greetings, Roy. It is good to see you."

"You as well, General. And you as well, General Percival."

Percival regarded Roy with an approving eye, a ghost of a smile gracing his handsome features. "You are General Roy of the Lycian Army then? Quite the young commander you are...yet capable as not many can be. You have my respect, General."

Roy blinked, a small redness coming over his cheeks. "You do me great honor, General. Pray tell, what is Etruria doing here? No disrespect intended, of course."

"Etruria has decided to place Lycia under her care for the time being," Cecilia explained, "we marched our armies here in order to cow Bern into retreat. I daresay we are lucky - we arrived on Ostian lands only this morning."

"You, truly, have saved us, General," Mark rode up to the foursome, "much bloodshed was spared in your foresight. You have my thanks, as well as the thanks of the Lycian Army, I am sure."

"If that is all, then," Percival turned his horse back towards the main section of the city, "I should go back to our army. I must travel back to King Mordred - he must be made aware of what has transpired here." Without another word, Percival set off, his black armor contrasting to the orangeness of dusk.

"General Cecilia," Lilina spoke, "thank you for saving Ostia. I know not how I could face my father if I lost his dear city. Thank you greatly. And you as well, Master Mark. My father spoke exceedingly highly of you...it is good to know that you wouldn't fail him."

"Of course, milady," Mark bowed slightly, "it does me well to know my dear friend's precious daughter is safe once more."

"Mark," Roy spoke up, suddenly feeling extraordinarily sore from his fight with Leygance, "it's time to plan a course of action. My father needs to know what has happened here as well. As the sole remaining marquis in Lycia, he now is Lycia's elder statesman."

"Of course, Master Roy," Mark smiled warmly at his charge, "allow me to congratulate you on saving Lycia. You did it, sire."

* * *

><p><em>And with this moment, so ends the Crisis of Lycia. Thirteen chapters and one hundred and thirty thousand words have gone into this story, yet we are not even a fifth of the way through!<em>

_ Reviews are welcome as always. A kind hearted thank you goes out to all those who have supported me thus far. I hope you eagerly await the next update - I know I am hard at work creating it._

_Once again, review if you would wish._


	14. No Rest For The Weary

**No Rest For The Weary**

_June 9th, 999 A.S._

_Castle Ostia, Lycian League, Elibe_

_Castle Ostia,_

_I once heard from a retired general the following: history belongs to the victors. That is why you find the different wording within schoolbooks and manuals. In the event of a successful uprising, it is called a revolution; a failed one a rebellion. A successful invader is called a conqueror, a failure of one is called a warmonger. _

_Let then history write our epitaphs as the men who stood up to Bern and survived. Though not through the entirety of our own doing, it is a victory nonetheless. Besides, all great men have some degree of luck at their hands, blessed by Elimine herself. I truly wonder, with no small degree of happiness or bluster, if Lord Roy is touched by God. Already, the people are calling him the 'Angel of Lycia' and are singing his praises - even in Laus, where Pherae is traditionally detested._

_Much has happened since Leygance's death and the Bern Army's retreat. For starters, Bern has completely removed themselves from Lycian territory. Though the Third Bern Army could have easily held Castle Araphen and we could have done nothing about it, they chose the safer route and withdrew completely. Likely relieving their men to work the fields for a grander harvest, Bern has certainly surprised me with their actions._

_The second surprising development was the word from Lord Eliwood. Immediately following our victory, much of the Lycian Army was dismissed. Paid in full for their service and helped home, those venerable veterans have earned a life of rest. Most, if not all knights returned to their homes, just in time to begin the spring planting. Many have returned, much to my joy. In fact, I am going to petition Lord Roy about the chance to create a personal elite Lycian force. Composed of the greatest fighters, it is going to be the new incarnation of Hector's Hordes. Maybe I'll go something a little less cheesy - the Lycian Legion, perhaps?_

_Ah, I am drawling. Word was heard from Lord Eliwood; as the senior most statesman in Elibe, he is coming to Ostia. In fact, he arrived only yesterday, late in the evening. I am being summoned, now, to attend a conference headed by central figures of the Lycian League. Oh joy._

"Yes, yes," Mark waved at the page who stood at his doorway, "I am coming."

Collecting the notes he had prepared for the meeting, Mark allowed himself to be led away, only stopping to close and lock his door behind him. Though he really owned nothing of true value, his journals were his release. In a way, they were a portal to his mind; in the pursuit of attempting to maintain an air of indifference between those he commanded, Mark's true thoughts needed to be recorded. And the master tactician had absolutely no plans to reveal those thoughts to any person other than himself...and one other person.

_'I never needed to say it to her though,'_ Mark noted with some sorrow, _'she always knew...'_

Shaking his head and mentally berating himself for getting his mind off topic, the man followed the rookie knight. The strategist felt unusually naked, having left his forest green cloak back in his room; walking forward in relatively simple brown and green garments, the man looked a far cry different from his usual appearance.

Nodding in appreciation as the young knight opened a door before him, Mark walked through the entrance. What stood before him was a room he had not seen from years; the Ostian conference room, a large yet simple space used primarily for planning among the Ostian marquis and his closest comrades. The last time Mark had been within this room was some twenty years prior, where a man older than the nation of Lycia recited an ancient tale about the fall of a friend and the failure to rectify a mistake.

A large circular table sat in the middle of the room, thirteen chairs placed strategically around it. As a result of his writings within his journal, Mark was one of the last to arrive; within the circle, many of the Lycia's most powerful members sat. Representing Caelin, Kent sat to the right of his sworn companion, a senior commander of the Lycian Army. To the left of Sain was Paris, now the lawful marquis of Thria; beside Paris was the Princess of Bern, her hands folded delicately on her lap. Beside her, Lycia's greatest ruler sat, his face still gaunt due to his illness; close by him, dividing father from son, stood House Pherae's stalwart guardian, Marcus. Next to Roy, Lilina was also flanked by her own retainer, Barth, the newly minted Knight Commander. Ostia's Head of Intelligence sat beside Barth, an empty seat to his left; on the other side of that seat sat the Mage General of Etruria, Cecilia, a faint smile on her face. Realizing that the empty seat was for him, Mark made his to his spot, drawing a smile from Eliwood.

"How very unlike you, Mark," Mark's aged friend chuckled, "you're often on time."

Mark shrugged, "as you can see, I'm not myself. I forgot my cloak, so I'm clearly mentally ill."

Eliwood laughed loudly as Mark's comments drew a few chuckles from those who knew him well, Marcus included - it was a rare day indeed when Mark was not sporting the garment! Letting the laughter die off, Eliwood tapped a hand to the table. "So, now that we are all here, shall we get started?"

"Let me be the first to say that it does me well to see you in such good spirits, Lord Eliwood - both mentally and physically."

Eliwood smiled fondly, "thank you Kent. I'll admit, the trek here was not easy, but it went certainly better than I expected. Now then...Princess Guinevere, as the notable individual of true royal blood here, it would be an honor to hear your story. My son and his comrades may know but it would be a pleasure to hear it myself."

"Very well," the Princess of Bern rested her hands on the table, her posture flawless, "as many in this room are aware, I am the Princess of Bern, sister to the King of Bern. I have left my brother's side in an attempt to procure support for an international treaty and ceasefire through diplomatic and peaceful means. I am aware that my mission is difficult, yet I would not be able to forgive myself if I did not attempt peace through words instead of through the sword."

"I initially came to Lycia to speak with you, Lord Eliwood; word throughout Elibe is that your judgment is fair and just, your words wise and moving. However, after encountering Master Mark in my flight from Bern, I chanced upon the Pheraen Army. Meeting with Lord Roy, I decided it would be in my best interest to remain with Lord Roy as he was coming to the aid of Lord Hector - the true man I needed to see. However, as we were ultimately too late, it fell that we had to reach Ostia."

Cecilia nodded, "so it is safe to assume that you have had no true opportunity to voice your position?"

"Correct. Father Saul of the Elimine Church has stated that the church supports any notions of peace, yet the church is not a recognized political entity."

"Very well then," Eliwood looked to Cecilia, "General Cecilia, if would not be too difficult, would it be possible to write a petition to King Mordred, requesting his support for a peaceful solution to this war?"

"Absolutely. My king supports anything that will spare lives."

"Then, Princess, after word is received from King Mordred, would it be possible to sit with yourself and a representative of the king and draft a petition to your lord brother?"

Guinevere nodded and smiled, "of course. Such words eases the burden on my heart greatly."

"I am pleased then," Eliwood smiled before turning to Cecilia, "General, what is Etruria's stance?"

The Mage General sighed, a frown replacing the smile from before. "Unfortunately, one of reluctance. Because of the bandits on the Western Isles and the lack of Bern action towards Etruria, many within my country do not think it is an Etrurian problem. As such, they are unwilling to get involved. Add in the fact that our royal court is divided..."

"And you have a country unwilling to move," Eliwood nodded somberly, "I can understand your plight. Regardless, for you to be here now shows that Etruria is at least aware of the threat that Bern poses."

"Indeed," Cecilia tapped a finger on the table, "King Mordred realized what dire consequences it would mean for Etruria if Ostia fell. For that reason he superseded the court and ordered General Percival and I here."

Matthew hummed, "from what I know of your king, that is no great feat."

"Your spies reach far, Lady Ostia," Cecilia winked at Lilina, who embarrassedly smiled, "but yes. King Mordred has not been himself ever since the death of Prince Mildain."

"I had the pleasure of meeting your prince. Elimine rest his soul."

Cecilia nodded, "our only instructions are to observe Lycia and to ensure its survival. Considering how cowed General Narshen was at our arrival, I believe that Etrurian blades will not be drawn soon."

Matthew sniffled, "I believe this is where I come in." The veteran unrolled a map on the table, dotted by lines and marked by x's. "This shows Bern's retreat through Lycia. As you can see, they made a beeline for the Bern border. While many initially thought that Bern would stop and bunker within the ruined remains of Castle Araphen, they flat out bypassed Araphen entirely and retreated straight into Bern. After that, my spies pulled out, fearing discovery. However, I can confidently say that Bern is entirely out of Lycia and has no plans to return any time in the immediate future."

"Whomever picked such a path of retreat is brilliant at such maneuvers. Is it this General Narshen you keep referring to?"

Mark shook his head at Kent, "no. I believe it is the Prime Minister of Bern, Orer."

"According to my men," Matthew rested his head on his palm, "Orer was once a feared general or strategist or something of the sort. His tactical acumen is unparalleled. Er...present company excluded of course."

"No, no," Mark shook his head, "this is exactly the course I would have taken as well. It would see this Orer is well versed in strategic retreat."

"Nonetheless," Matthew shrugged, "Bern is out of our hair for the time being."

"That means we must merely plan for them so we are better prepared to deal with them in the future."

"Lord Eliwood," Sain spoke up, "I think that may be more difficult than you think."

"Why is that, Sain?"

The Green Lance sighed as he placed his elbows on the table, causing Kent to nearly smack them down, recognizing what a diplomatic miscue it was. None at the table seemed to notice, or mind if they did. "During the Battle of Araphen, we were holding our own rather effectively."

"It was only once Marquis Emerus opened Araphen's gates to Bern did the tide shift away from us. And even then, we could have broken the advance if we were able to throw more men into it."

Sain nodded in agreement with Paris' words. "Unfortunately, Zephiel has a weapon that eclipses any that we are able to field."

Kent frowned, "and what is that, Sain?"

"Dragons, Sir Kent," Paris said somberly, "King Zephiel has dragons at his disposal."

An unsettling silence settled amongst those who just became aware of Zephiel's mighty weapons; even those who knew of Zephiel's capabilities were silent, the thought of dragons blackening their mind.

"Eliwood," Mark accidentally left the title out of his old friend's name, "where did you and Hector seal it?"

"It?" Eliwood looked puzzled for a moment before a look of recognition dawned on him. "Ah. It. It is back where we disturbed it."

"What is it, Father?"

Eliwood looked over at his son with a ghostly smile, "it is what will allow us to defeat the dragons...with relative ease."

"Does such a thing exist?" Roy looked around the table, seeing that only Kent, Sain, Marcus, and Matthew knew what the two men were speaking of.

"Of course, Lord Roy," Mark nodded, "after all, it has only been a millennia since us humans drove dragons into another realm."

"Fear not Mark, I will reacquire it before Bern's next move."

Kent cleared his throat, bringing attention to him, "regardless, Lord Eliwood's item is only truly useful against dragon-ilk and their kin. That still does not negate the sizable military advantage Bern has over Lycia."

"Indeed. Therefore, I focused much of my attention on how to combat Bern's superior numbers." Digging out a sheet of papers from his collection, Mark placed them on the table. Scribbled in Mark's extraordinarily neat handwriting, the names of men were visible, Lord Hector's at the top. "Here's the names of every single Lycian knight who perished in the Battle of Araphen."

Eliwood looked at the list, "by the gods there are so many..."

"And here..." Mark pulled out another string of sheets, "are the estimated number of casualties by Bern. This includes the two dragons."

"How many Lycian and Bern men died?"

"Altogether? The Lycian Army lost nearly half its fighting ability - when put into exact numbers...three hundred and twenty eight. The Bern Army lost more than that, roughly six hundred men. So you are looking and nearly nine hundred men who gave up their lives at Araphen."

"So Hector bled them out at nearly two times the rate."

"Considering how poorly the odds changed," Sain said, "I'd say we did rather well. The dragons destroyed the gatehouse and portions of the wall and Zephiel bloody walked in the backdoor."

"Exactly. That being said, Lycia's army...is decimated. Between Laus' betrayal, Araphen, and Leygance's rebellion, we are not fighting nearly at capacity. In fact, I'd wager we barely have enough men to counter any true bandit threat across multiple dukedoms."

"What do you think we should do then, Master Mark?" Lilina spoke for the first time that meeting.

"I think we should establish a standing Lycian Army. Gone are the days when the individual dukedoms of Lycia could stand separate but together. Now," Mark continued, "Lycia must stand as one, united. However, the individual dukedoms have strength within one another. Pherae, for example, is skilled in horsemanship like no other area in Elibe. Caelin," he gestured to Kent, "is exemplary in their light cavalry and marksmanship. Ostia's armor knights are the backbone of any competent Lycian force, whilst the spearmen of Thria are some of the greatest light infantry in Lycia."

"So you're saying we should train specifically only as part of a larger army - in effect, pieces of a whole?"

"Precisely, Sir Paris. By standing as one, Lycia has a throwers' chance against Bern. Furthermore, I believe we should create a crack team of elite soldiers for the time being - a vanguard if you will. Made of the most skilled soldiers from all corners of Lycia - and even those not from Lycia - the commander of this force should be the same person as the Lycian Army's general."

"Who shall lead such an army?"

"In all honesty, Mage General, I believe Roy is the only man capable of such a thing."

Roy blinked a few times, "me? Why me?"

Mark leaned forward, brown eyes staring into Roy's blue ones. "Because, sir, you are the only man who has the universal respect of every Lycian within Lycia. You came astride on your white horse and led the combined Lycian Army into battle against Bern, Laus, and Ostia, and you emerged victorious time and again. You transcend regional boundaries. There is no man better suited than you."

A redness spread to Roy's cheeks, "but...surely there are more men capable...Paris or Sain or Barth...What about Father? Surely he is more capable."

"And you'd be absolutely correct," Mark nodded, "however, that does not mean you cannot become as capable, or even more capable, than those men. With my guidance, you will become the greatest general Elibe has witnessed since the time of Hartmut."

"I think that's a wonderful idea."

"I agree, Lilina," Eliwood turned to his son, "Roy, I promise you, no man is better suited to bringing forth all your talents. Learn from him and you shall see yourself become even more capable than myself."

The Pheraen heir looked down at his hands for a second, a deep breath coming from him as he pondered his new direction in life. It had only been a few months ago when he was learning tactics from Cecilia! "Very well. If there are no objections, I will accept."

"I could not think of a more perfect candidate," Barth said, "I will lend you my axe."

"Caelin pledges her men to you, Lord Roy," Kent bowed his head, "my men, Sain, and myself are all at your disposal. Use us as you see fit."

Paris audibly knuckled his breastplate, "I have witnessed your prowess first hand, Lord Roy. It would be an honor to fight beneath you."

Marcus turned to his liege, a ghostly smile on his face. The elderly knight had not had much to say, but in backing of his lord, he always had a word or two. "I have pledged my life to you ever since you were but a newborn, my lord. I will serve you no less faithfully than I have in the past."

"Roy," Lilina rested a hand on his shoulder, "as the leader of Ostia, I will devote all of my men to you. Ostia's friendship with Pherae has been one that has bested time...and our friendship is even deeper than that. My men are yours to command."

Mark raised an eyebrow at the explicitly professional response by Lilina but did not say anything, opting to let Cecilia speak. "You were my finest student. I could think of no one better for the role, Roy...no, General Roy!"

"It is decided then," Eliwood turned to his son, "Roy of Pherae, with the power vested in me by the Lycian Covenant, I name you Supreme Commander over the combined armies of the Lycian League."

* * *

><p>Considered the most impressive castle within all of Elibe, Ostia was known for being marvelous from the outside, a fact that did not do the interior justice. As it was with Ostia's long history, the variety of marquises who presided over the castle helped to shape it's appearance. While some of the marquises, such as Hector and Uther, helped to reinforce the practical elements of the castle, some Ostian marquises were interested merely in its beauty.<p>

It was for this reason that certain elements of the castle did not seemingly go together. Within the barracks, stone and steel were the only building materials in use; in the great hall, where many fickle marquises preferred to spend their time, marble replaced stone and silver replaced steel. Gone were the simple wooden torches hung by cast iron cradles, replaced by ornate goblets burning with arcane fire. Wooden chairs were made away as silver and gold lined steel ones sat in their place, shining as they reflected the light from the fires.

Eliwood himself was not a fan of some of Ostia's grandeur, preferring the rustic yet impressive look that Pherae exhibited. Yet, even Ostia's extravagance paled in comparison to Araphen's, with its large granite and marble pillars and statues; knowing that his dear friend detested much of the gold and silver inlayed furniture his predecessors so adored. If one glanced within the private quarters of the late Ostian marquis, they would have mistaken it for a simple knight's. A large but simple okane bed lay in the middle, with a rustic desk and drawers on one side, another set on the other. A large window rested on a wall, surrounded by a few small portraits of those loved by the marquis. A jeweled axe, heirloom from his departed brother, sat in a magnificent case against a wall; above it, a large and beautiful portrait of the late Lady Florina had rested, before it was moved to a private location when Hector departed for Araphen.

As Eliwood sat on the bed his best friend loved so dearly, a cold shiver went down his spine. It had been the first moment since he arrived in Ostia that he had truly been alone - it was an odd feeling, being alone within Hector's castle. As on so many other occasions, Eliwood expected to be set upon by his dear friend, laughter on his lips; nothing of the sort happened, however, and Eliwood sighed deeply, standing with a groan.

Making his way to the royal crypts, the Marquis of Pherae struggled with his emotions. It had been a great deal of time since the death of his beloved Lady Ninian, leaving Eliwood somewhat open to the emotional pain he was currently feeling. Having only cried four times in his life - the deaths of his parents and the two deaths of his beautiful bride - the new Lycian Lord felt no small degree of confusion. Perhaps the emotion would work itself out the lord wondered to himself.

Nodding to two Ostian sentinels who stood guard to the Ostian Royal Crypt, Eliwood was permitted access without any hassle. Making his way down the stairwell, the Pheraen lord exhaled heavily - the last time he had been within the Ostian Royal Crypt, it had been to put his beloved to rest when she was felled by his hand. Though events had certainly transpired and resulted in a very different outcome, the memory still weighed heavily on him. Another chill went up Eliwood's spine as he reached the bottom, causing him to tighten his cloak around his shoulders.

Eliwood didn't need to go far once he arrived on the ground floor of the crypt. Before him rested his lifelong, frozen in time. Though it had been over a month since Hector had passed on from this world, Lilina had seen it fit to bring the great Ostian general home to his castle. Though his body too decomposed to display, it rested within the granite sarcophagus; the mighty axe Wolf Beil, long Hector's preferred weapon, lay atop the heavy granite slab. Flowers and trinkets had been placed over the top of the temporary grave, weighing heavily on Eliwood's heart.

Walking slowly towards Hector's coffin, Eliwood's breath hitched. Long had he believed that headstrong Hector, ever full of life and bravado, would outlive himself. To know that just under a few inches of stone rested his best friend, his lifelong companion, his blood brother caused the Marquis of Pherae's knees to grow weak. Clenching his fists as he bowed his head, the Pheraen replayed memories of Hector. Sparring with the blue-haired lord in their youth, swearing their vows to one another as they took the oath of succession, excitedly visiting the other when one had their child; even memories that did not hold a special place in his heart - Hector informing him that Florina had passed away or Eliwood likewise giving word that Ninian had finally become too weak. Time and again Hector had been Eliwood's greatest friend, a constant pool of support.

Hot tears clawed at his eyes as Eliwood clenched his teeth. "Damn it Hector...you were supposed to live longer than this...we were going to have our grandchildren compete as we did, damn you..."

A sob escaped the marquis then as he imagined the bearded giant's friendly smile, the perpetual glint in his eyes. Eliwood had many friends and even more acquaintances but there was no longer any he considered to be his brother. The one person he had lay entombed beneath his hands. Pounding his fist on the granite slab, Eliwood lost himself in his grief.

* * *

><p><em>June 11th, 999 A.S.<em>

Mark groaned as he flipped through the manuscript in front of him, dust flying upwards as the pages were turned. The master tactician sat at the large circular table within Ostia's conference room; to his right, a large pile of textbooks and manuscripts sat, slightly obscuring the man's vision and those of people who stood to his right. To his left, a significantly smaller pile of books rested, a thick layer of dust on their covers. Directly in front of him, rolls of maps were bundled together, some newer than others.

Shaking his head in irritation as he put yet another book to the pile on the right, Mark folded his arms and rested his head in them. Though he was a genius in regards to strategic and tactical innovation, he had never taught any student before. As such, he was completely lost on how to approach the matter of teaching Roy.

Opting to raid the Royal Ostian Library for all their writings on strategy and tactics, the Famed Genius had been met with disappointment with every book he opened. Knowing that Roy needed the best guidance he could receive, the Etrurian struggled to find a script that the lord could follow along with. Knowing how difficult strategy could be, Mark was attempting to make it easier for his soon-to-be pupil - and was failing spectacularly.

Behind him, one of the room's large oak doors opened. Hearing footsteps and the unmistakable sound of wood, Mark's head swiveled as he looked at the newcomers. One armed with an unmistakable grin, the other with famed stoicism, Sain and Kent were a pleasant sight to the veteran tactician. Though he had commanded many over the years, those from the Campaign of Fire were definitely his favorite; in particular, many of those who served initially under Lyndis' campaign for her inheritance were among some of his closest friends, Kent and Sain included. Having been friends with the two cavaliers for over two decades, it did Mark well to see them in good health.

"Hello, Mark!" Sain's voice boomed through the empty room, "what are you doing inside on such a pleasant day?"

Mark gestured to the stack of books, "clearly," sarcasm dripped from his voice, "I am organizing Ostia's library."

Kent lowered himself into a chair, resting his cane against the wooden table. "I have a feeling this is related to your teaching of Lord Roy."

"Astute as ever Kent," Mark leveled a glance at Sain, who grinned like he did twenty years prior. "I'm struggling to find a good textbook that explains some of the basics. Everything I've found, however, isn't up to my standard."

"Why don't you simply teach off the cuff then?"

"Because, Sain, I'd..." Mark blinked for a moment, "I...that's actually not a bad idea."

Kent shrugged, "Sain has a point. There is no man alive who knows more about strategy and tactical overtures than you, Mark."

"At one point," Mark glanced up, a distant expression on his face, "there was. However, he's likely long dead now."

"You had a teacher at one point?"

Mark nodded, "yes. A long time ago. I was but a child at the time, an orphan who had shown quite a bit of promise. He was a loyal retainer to one of the most powerful dukes in Etruria. During those times, many of the dukes would assist some of the orphans in finding jobs or homes and such. When I showed rather high intellect for my age...he took a liking to me."

"Did he die while you were learning under him?" Kent inquired as Sain thumbed through one of the large books.

"No," Mark shook his head as he set aside a book of battlefield tactics, "a philosophical disagreement split us. Though I learned a great deal at his side, I never truly believed in his philosophy of war."

"I was wondering, Mark," Sain looked up from the book he was glancing at, "I don't suppose you could teach many of the younger knights of battlefield tactics? Some of us - Sir Marcus, Sir Wallace - are rather...old, while others cannot always be on the frontlines. Wouldn't it be prudent to teach some of the younger and more skilled knights in the realm of tactics?"

Mark blinked, surprise written on his face, "...I must've hit my head. Kent, how is that Sain is thinking of these ideas before myself?"

"Marriage and a son changed him, Mark. I daresay that I hardly recognize him at times...but then," Kent shook his head in mock exasperation, "the Sain of old rears his ugly nature and I feel the instinct to slap my forehead at those moments..."

"Actually," Mark tapped a finger to his chin, "I think I should probably teach more than just Roy as well..."

Already in the man's mind, the cogs began to move and shift. Spreading a blank piece of parchment, the Famed Genius plotted with two of his oldest friends, planning out the future of the Lycian Army.

* * *

><p><em>August 20th, 999 A.S.<em>

Roy sighed as he sat back at his desk, rubbing his hands over his eyes. For over six candlemarks he had been pouring over the extraordinarily large text Mark had given him. Though Roy had always been fascinated by strategy, he could admit that it was nowhere near as enjoyable as learning field stratagem. He was a natural at methodical approaches of positioning armies, he had still quite a bit to learn of innovating plans as the situation changed, though he was certainly improving.

Mark employed an unusual method for teaching his students. Instead of teaching solely through books and hypothetical scenarios, Mark actually led created true situations using the Ostian and Pheraen military at his disposal. Forcing his pupils to learn on the fly, Mark insisted that the only way a true tactician was able to absorb strategy and perfect was to practice it. Arming the opposing forces with wooden weapons, Mark ordered all the soldiers they were commanding to fight as if they were at war; though Mark obviously could not naturally throw his students into a real battle, there was no reason he could not try to make it as real as possible.

Teaching only Roy and Lilina - Guinevere had decided to sit in on quite a few of his lessons as well - campaign strategy, Mark decided to cast a wider net to pass on his tactical acumen. Inviting some of the brightest and propitious knights who had not been taught tactical disposition, Mark had not said a single word before throwing them all in varying situations and scenarios. Though Roy certainly had not done the worst, he knew he was not the most impressive - that honor fell to Princess Guinevere, which was either extremely surprising or not at all, depending on how much one knew of Bern women. Regardless, the Pheraen lord felt as if he had quite a bit of knowledge to acquire before he was able to hold his own against professional Bern strategists.

Hearing the door to his personal quarters open, Roy raised an eyebrow at his visitor. Though it was not unusual for some to inquire his temperament, it _was _unusual, however, for the young man to receive visitors at this hour. Noting it must have been nearly five candlemarks since sundown, Roy sighed before mumbling a word of greeting.

Peeking her head through the door, a very tired but smiling Lilina walked in, dressed in a simple but conservative yellow nightgown. Flowing gently in the summer breeze that drifted through Roy's room, Lilina looked as a specter would, her socked feet mere whispers as they shuffled across the marble of Roy's room.

"Lilina," Roy sat straight, suddenly blushing as he realized his shirt had been unbuttoned down the front. "You're up quite late."

The bluenette smiled as she took a seat on Roy's bed, "I could say the same to you, Roy. Why are you up?"

The Lycian general gestured to the large volume before him, hands unconsciously buttoning his shirt. "Mark has me reading this text of Bern strategies they teach in their academies. It's really interesting but..."

"You've never really been a book learner."

The redhead nodded with a huff, "exactly."

Lilina placed a hand over her mouth as a small giggle escaped her. "Oh but you don't even need to! You're such a natural at all of this commanding stuff! Admittedly," she gave her dearest friend a soft smile, "I'm slightly jealous."

"Jealous?" Roy blinked in puzzlement, "of what?"

The teen fiddled with the hem of her gown, shrugging her shoulders as she did so. As she did so, Roy had a feeling of déjà vu as he recalled a similar scene within his own castle, years ago. "You're just able to think on your feet so well...I'm fine as long as it stays how I read about it...after it changes, I don't know what to do. I panic, I guess."

"You're not doing poorly, if that's what you're insinuating."

"Oh," Lilina shook her head, "I know...I just feel like I could do better I guess. I do fine when the situations Master Mark gives us are like the ones in the readings but when he changes it up..."

"Hm," Roy stood and sat beside his childhood friend, "what if you envision it as going from one textbook scenario to another?"

The Ostian frowned in thought for a few seconds before a slow smile spread over her face. "You know, that's not a bad idea! I think I could do that!"

"I wouldn't doubt it," Roy smiled at Lilina kindly, "no one knows the book strategies better than you do, Lilina."

Roy yawned deeply then causing Lilina to look at the youth. Shaking her head in mock exasperation. "I guess some things never change...are you tired?"

"No...I mean, I suppose so."

Lilina smiled as she brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Well, I suppose it is pretty late...Master Mark gave us the day off tomorrow, in case you forgot. Would you...like to go into town with me?"

"That would be...wonderful. I'd love to."

Her eyes brightening with joy, the girl reined in her joy quickly. "Well, good! Uhm...I guess I'll let you go to bed now ehe..." Standing and straightening her gown, the Ostian princess made for the door before turning towards Roy.

"Lilina?"

Walking over towards her friend, Lilina bent over in front of him. "I never did get the chance to thank you for saving me Roy..." Quickly kissing the redhead's cheek, an instant blush spread over both of their faces as Lilina stood up rigidly, "so uhm...uh, thanks Roy. Good night!"

Hastily making her way towards the exit, her face the color of Roy's own hair, Lilina slid out without another word. As he subconsciously touched his cheek in shock, Roy couldn't help but notice how pretty she looked in yellow. Shaking his head before any impure thoughts dared to enter his mind, the Pheraen teen knew he would no longer be able to focus on his studies. Snuffing the candle at his desk, Roy entered into a deep sleep, one visited by a beautiful blue haired princess.

* * *

><p><em>October 19th, 999 A.S.<em>

The small convoy of Lycians made their way through the forest, leaves gently falling around them in the autumn breeze. The hooves of the horses crunched as the orange, brown, and yellow foliage broke beneath them, spooking some of the wildlife around them. One by one they passed through, all with peaceful expressions. Though the six riders were armed and armored, none seemed to notice the gentle knocks of metal as they rode on, as soft as the wind blew.

Leading the way, the Marquis of Pherae allowed himself to relax. Truly smiling and feeling alive for the first time nearly a year ago, Eliwood was appreciating the serenity. Though the loss of Hector still ate at his heart - as it always would, just as Ninian's did - the Pheraen was moving on. Though much of it was forced due to his responsibilities, it did his heart and mind well to escape Hector's castle and look out over Lycia once more.

Arriving at a clearing that divided forest and a large cliff face, the six slowed to a halt as Eliwood raised his hand. Swinging his leg over the saddle's pommel, Eliwood hopped down onto the soft grass underneath. Noticing that the rest of the were dismounting as well, Eliwood pointed towards a section of the cliff face.

"Right there...that's where we enter."

Leading his horse to Eliwood's side, Alan raised an eyebrow. "Er...entering where, Lord Eliwood?"

"Right..." Eliwood fumbled in his pouch before withdrawing a small crystal, "here."

Raising the small item before him, a blue light emanated for a few moments before it released a bright light, falling dull immediately after. A moment or two passed before a loud rumbling was heard; before them, a section of the cave wall retracted and fell away, leaving a dark entrance. The screech of bats was heard as a small horde of the creatures flew out, disturbed from their rest.

Roy pointed a finger towards the entrance with a dazed look. "What is that?"

"That," Eliwood tied his horse to a try by the cave's entrance, "is where we are going."

Tying his own horse on the same tree as his lord, Alan peered into the entrance. Whistling lowly, the red knight grinned as it echoed back at him. "She seems pretty big, sire."

Pulling a torch handle and a pouch of grease from the bag on his horse's saddle, Eliwood nodded at Alan. "That's because it is," slathering the end of the wood with the grease, Eliwood looked up, "Alan, Lance, Marcus, you three stand guard at the entrance please. It wouldn't do any good for us to be set upon by some curious brigands while we're in there."

"What about Lilina and I, Father?"

Eliwood placed the torch handle on the ground, setting a small piece of flint beside it. "You two," he reached back into his pack and pulled out two more wooden handles, "will be receiving a quick history lesson."

* * *

><p>"Gut him!"<p>

"Damn it! That was my family's bread money...hey, c'mon, double or nothing!"

"Kill! Kill that sonnuva bitch!"

A mighty surge came forth then as the victor emerged, drenched in his foe's blood. The roar reached a feverish pitch then, loud enough to cause vibrations on the men and women within. The excitement wasn't particularly rare, as it was throughout the rest of Elibe. Day after day, lives were made and lost, fortunes gained and vanquished in the enthralling death matches that the crowds were witness to. Though much of the bloodlust had left with the onset of a tentative peace between Bern, Lycia, and Etruria, there were many refugees who had decided to build homes within Ostia; combining with more of the ragged Ostians, the arena had found a relatively renewed interest in its blood sport.

For Noah, it was all more of the same. Though Ilian mercenaries were famed for their loyalty towards employers, they were mercenaries all the same. Cold, heartless, and brutal, many of the same stereotypes that were held to the common sellsword could be attributed to Ilian ones as well. Though Ilian mercenaries held good statue with nobles and commoners alike, it was difficult to distinguish the common merc from an Ilian one - especially if the Ilian's commander was a poor disciplinarian. Like any other common mercenary, Ilian free knights frequented whorehouses, arenas, and darkened gambling huts and Noah was no exception.

Although Zealot was a stern taskmaster, even he realized that a mercenary needed a certain degree of freedom. When one's primary method of wagemaking involved risking life and limb on a habitual basis, there must be a method of escape. Prohibiting his men from doing anything illicitly illegal, such as harassing or intimidating the locals, it wasn't uncommon for his men to visit seedy areas such as brothels or gambling dens.

For Noah, though he certainly was no stranger to a whore's embrace, this was primarily the arena. Engulfing himself in the heat of battle with the ability to forfeit as well as perfect his form, Noah knew no better release; adding in the fact that he could profit off of himself by performing well, the Ilian could find no reason to look for an alternative.

Since the retreat of the Bern Army and the cleanup of Ostia, there remained little work for the knights of Ilia to perform. Though acting as temporary constables for Lilina as Barth and Bors rigorously trained a large company of knights to replace their numbers, there wasn't enough to do in the day to stave off boredom. Though not minding, Noah found himself frequenting the arena to keep his skills and mind sharp. Creating a name for himself, the Ilian quickly became one of the arena's biggest fighters; alongside an old stalwart at the arena, Noah held only one of two undefeated streaks. Time and again a man stepped before him, and time and again they were sent back defeated.

Making his way to the registration counter, Noah nodded to the man behind the desk. A hulking, scarred behemoth of a man, the former pit fighter recognized Noah's tall form as he reached under the desk. Pulling out a few pieces of paper for the man to sign, the receptionist grinned at the Ilian. Styling himself as The Master of Games, his personality belayed his appearance.

"Back again, eh?"

Noah nodded, applying the quill as he signed his name. "I suppose so. Nothing else to do around here."

"Ye Ilians," the man shook his head as he stamped the sheet and put it away. "That's probably been the fourth time I heard that today."

"We're used to eventful lives."

"So, how many lives you gonna take today? Four? Five? Six, even?"

Noah shook his head, "you know I try to keep them alive if I can. If I can disarm and get them to surrender, I will."

"Bah, yer borin'," the Master shook his head, "regardless, ye hear about Galus?"

Recognizing the name of the arena's champion, Noah looked at the man quizzically. "No, what happened?"

"The man was fightin' some girl afore she took him out. Done severed all the tendons in his wrist - funny thing is, the broad wouldn't stop apologizin' for her 'shoddy swordsmanship' or so I heard."

Noah blinked, "shoddy swordsmanship? I remember watching Galus fight - that big butcher's knife he calls a sword packs a wallop."

"Aye," the man shook his head, "he won't be able to use it no more either cuz of the injury. As thanks for what he done all these years, I hired him as a handler. He may not be able to use a sword but he still can throw a punch...or use a club, if need be."

"Hm...I'll be sure to remember not to irritate him then," Noah shook his head, "anyways, do you have any spots for me?"

The scarred man laughed, "actually, Ilian, I was hopin' yew'd show yer ugly mug here. I need a champion to run the pit - Galus was gonna but obviously..."

"Why me? I certainly don't have seniority over these other guys."

"Aye but yer younger n yew'd do better than those older guys. Plus, I need someone quick."

"Well, when should I go?"

"Well..." the man checked a schedule, "ye got two candlemarks. So if ye wanna hang out in the armory, I suppose ye got some time ta kill."

Three candlemarks later, Noah stood armed and waiting behind the gate that led to the arena floor. Though it had been some months since the engagement with Leygance, every time Noah came to the arena, he couldn't help but remember the battle that they did against the power hungry Ostian steward. Remembering watching the trio of Caelin knights engage Leygance's men alongside two of his Ilian comrades, Noah remembered how impressive the Lycians had been. The older general, his physical prowess having deserted him probably some time ago, had been impressive despite his limitations. The female knight had battled with a grace Noah had never seen; her every motion was like water as she danced and deflected her opponent's blows. The most impressive, however, was the final Caelin knight. Displaying an innate ability for battle that Noah had never seen, the knight moved as one with his weapon and with his opponent.

Pleased he had such capable allies, the Ilian breathed in heavily. Beside him, the handler in charge of the gate looked at him.

"Nervous?"

Noah shook his head, "not particularly. I've been here quite a few times."

"Hrm," the handler was decked in numerous steel plates. Though not enough to qualify as a suit of armor, he was nonetheless very well protected. "You've been doing well. I've been watching some of your matches."

Noah nodded, "hasn't been too difficult. I'm getting quite a bit of gold for myself today so I don't have a problem with it."

"Hah!" The handler chuckled, "for this next match, you're nearly a twenty to one favorite. If you bet against yourself, you'd be able to make quite a bit of cash."

"And die in the process or get maimed? No thank you."

The man shook his head, "you can always forfeit."

"Hm..."

"Shame you didn't bet against yourself. Throw in your entire wallet, throw the match and emerge twenty times richer? Quite the nice cash in, if you ask me." The man shrugged, "of course, there's always downfalls to that."

Noah rose an eyebrow as the match before them ended. A man lay dead in the center of the dirt field. "What do you mean?"

"Well," the man rested a hand on the pommel of his sword, "we've had entrants do that and then get murdered exiting the arena by one of their backers who went broke."

"Perhaps it's a good thing I have no plans of doing any of those things then."

The knight shrugged, "perhaps. Anyways...you're up kid. Don't die too quickly."

Making his way through the gate, Noah walked out in the sun slowly. Though he preferred fighting from horseback, he couldn't risk having his faithful companion skewered from under him. Though he could save his life at almost any time, the same could not be said for a mount. Hearing the cheers of the crowed, Noah raised his hand a little. Before him, the challenger awaited; armed with a rather large axe and a nervous look, it didn't take Noah long to guess that his opponent was green to the arena.

Sidestepping a rather sloppy vertical chop, Noah stepped backwards to observe the enemy's actions. Charging forward with reckless abandon, the axe swung off to the right as it aimed for Noah's head; ducking under the blow, the Ilian struck out with his sword, the tip of the blade nicking the man's thigh. Bringing his iron sword back across his body, Noah's blade cut a good slash across the fighter's torso; grunting in response, the large man backed away swiftly, involuntarily bringing a hand towards his bleeding abdomen. Gesturing for Noah to go on the offensive, the mercenary decided to bite and moved forward, sword at the ready.

Stabbing forward towards the man's head, Noah was unsurprised to strike nothing but air; twisting his shoulders to the left, the man's large axe narrowly missed the cavalier's neck by mere inches. Flipping his sword to his left hand, the Ilian knight swung widely to the outside, drawing another deep cut on the fighter. Now bleeding from a cut across his stomach and now the right shoulder, the man grimaced before dropping his axe and giving the uniform sign of surrender.

"I give," the man shook his head in disgrace, "you're too fast for me, knight."

Merely nodding in acknowledgement of the man's compliment, Noah waited until the handlers had made their way towards the center of the arena before sheathing his sword. Casting the knight from before a sidelong look, Noah made his way to the exit. Inwardly grinning as he was handed his winnings, the Ilian was preparing to leave before he noticed a disturbance off to the side; curiosity overtaking his common sense, Noah made his way over to where a rather large crowd was beginning to gather. Knowing that the handlers would soon be upon this with haste, the knight made sure he was able to leave quickly.

In the center of the quickly growing circle, a large and imposing man pointed a finger towards a young girl. Recognizing the man as a regular bettor, Noah raised an eyebrow as the man continued his tirade.

"You think you can just waltz out of here and leave? You're damn lucky I won't cut you in half right here!"

"I am...very sorry."

The man spat towards the girl, causing her to flinch. "You had better be sorry, bitch! I lost over half my savings because of you!" The gambler seized the girl's hair with a thick fist, bringing her close to him. "You're going to make up for my money, one way or another."

Knowing the characters of the men that frequented the arena, Noah knew that no one was likely to step up to prevent the man from acting on his will. Elbowing a scrawny man to the side, Noah stepped forward with a frown. "Release the woman."

"Go find your own whore, Ilian, before y-"

The man never finished his threat as Noah's fist rammed into his stomach; doubling over, the man's breath left him before another strong armored fist collided with the side of his head. Moving forward with raised hands as the gambler stumbled backwards, Noah quickly jabbed out with another left before flooring the man with a strong right hook. Confident he had downed the furious man, Noah turned towards the girl, who looked at him with a grateful, if apprehensive, look.

"Thank you Sir."

"Noah," the Ilian shook his head with a small smile, "and it was nothing Miss..?"

The girl gave him a wide smile. Over her shoulder, Noah noticed that one of the handlers was heading towards them - someone had likely alerted them to a disturbance. "Fir. And I appreciate it, Sir Noah. I was just leaving to get something to eat and that man just came up to me and started screaming at me. I was so shocked that I didn't know what to do."

"Well, nothing to worry about now...well," Noah noticed that the handler was drawing closer, "at least, not if we leave. Come along now, before the handlers rough us up."

Grabbing Fir's hand and heading towards one of the many exits from the arena, Noah noticed that her hands were rough as his were. Casting an eye as she walked along beside him, he noticed that a rather deadly looking blade lay at her hip. As they stopped by a food vendor, Noah nodded towards the blade. "At first I thought you were just a girl, but that sword right there says something different."

"Ah," Fir nodded as she took a bite of roasted chicken off a skewer, "yes, I'm training to become a great swordsman. So I thought that with the war going on here, that many strong warriors could be found in Ostia."

Noah sheepishly shrugged, "for better or worse, you thought correctly."

"It was going well and no one paid no real mind to me until I injured a fan favorite or champion or something the other day. Ever since then, people have been causing trouble for me whenever they see me."

Noah blinked as a piece of chicken nearly fell out of his mouth. Regaining his senses, he recovered quickly. "You're the girl that crippled Galus?"

"I never meant to seriously injure him," Fir frowned, "I was parrying a blow of his when my sword slipped because of the odd shape of his blade! By the time I realized what happened, there was a deep gash in his arm..."

"Incredible..." Noah shook his head in disbelief. A wound that serious was enough to retire a man from the battlefield permanently - yet she attributed it to a mistake? "Say, Fir, you said you're training to be a swordsman correct? Well, if you'd like, instead of fighting against those cutthroats and brutes, I'd be more than willing to spar with you. I'm sure many others in my company would be pleased as well."

"You mean that, Sir Noah?"

Noah nodded, "of course. We'll just need to talk to the army's advisor and there should be no problem with you gaining lodges at the castle. It'll be good for both you and I - mutual experience, if you will!"

"Oh, thank you so much Sir Noah! I could never repay you enough but I promise I'll do my best!"

As the girl bowed in front of him with a gigantic smile, Noah couldn't help but feel his face redden. Noah supposed he could get used to having such a cute girl around...and the training would be good as well. What a wonderful arrangement!

* * *

><p>Although Augusta was a marvel within Bern and was renowned for its beauty, it held no competition for Elibe's crown jewel of culture. Nestled deep within the country of Etruria, the royal city of Aquleia dwarfed the resplendence of any city that came before and likely would continue to overshadow any that came after.<p>

White, clean, and imposing, Aquleia was quite unlike any other city within Elibe. Whereas Ostia was probably the mightiest and grandest city on the continent, it could never hope to overshadow Aquleia's splendor. Although Ostia and even Bulgar were grand in their own restrictive way, the excessiveness of Aquleia could not be matched, particularly within the sector granted to the upper classes. Though the sectors assigned to the lower classes and the business district were not all that dissimilar to other cities across Elibe, Etruria's wealth shone brightest in the upper sector. Whereas the poorest districts - and even some of the business ones - were nothing more than dirt and broken stones, the Etrurian elite made their way down roads paved with cobblestones.

Unlike the lower sectors, where animals roamed the streets without control or containment, the upper sectors were devoid of livestock. Horses and dogs were the only animals to ever make an appearance, though they were always under the control of a handler. In the poorer districts, the streets were incredibly crowded as men, women, and children ran to and fro with tasks or general merriment; it was a night and day difference when compared to the upper sectors, where all the men and women walked in an organized manner. Nothing was out of place for the lords and ladies; everything had its place and every was organized. Unlike those savages below them, messiness could be considered a cardinal sin.

As Shin maneuvered his horse through the throngs of people, he could be inclined to agree. Having entered Etruria some two weeks prior, the only thing he had received was poor service and sidelong glances; opting to hopefully avoid some of the stares he had become used to, Shin decided to entirely avoid the noble district. However, he was beginning to see the folly in that decision. Even though many didn't notice him - and those who did was more due to his horse than his clothing or complexion - it was due to the massive number of people on the streets. Even with Trafalgar pushing creating a small wedge with his size, it was still slow going; he had started down this road nearly a candlemark ago and it was only now that he was nearing the end.

Nearly elbowing his way through, Shin turned down a side street and instantly felt better; the crowds gave way to empty alleyways, with only the occasional dog minding its own business. Leading his blue roan horse down the alley, Shin sidestepped trash and feces as he crinkled his nose in disgust; even though he had been to Bulgar many times before, he never could get over the offending smells of the city. When one roamed the plains, the offending smells of crowded settlements were not encountered often - as such, Shin never understood how those living in Bulgar could withstand such invasive smells when the fertile plains of Sacae lay right on their doorstep. Unlike those in Bulgar, however, Aquleians at least attempted to keep themselves and their city tidy, including the lower classes. Nonetheless, in a city as crowded as Aquleia, garbage and refuse was unavoidable.

Holding his breath as he passed what he assumed to be the decomposed remains of an animal, Shin emerged from the alley onto another main street, though it was slightly smaller than the main street he had travelled down before. This particular avenue was rather deserted as well, though a few merchants peddled their wares on the side as a handful of men walked down the road. Tugging on Trafalgar's reins as the Sacaen shuffled down the side of the road, a sudden door opening stopped him in his tracks abruptly.

The door hit the tip of his soft leather boots with no small amount of force, causing the man to stumble backwards with more surprise than pain. His back foot was stopped, however, by a heavy crate that rested low to the ground; the wooden object didn't give as the momentum of Shin's movement caused the top half of his body to fall backwards over the crate. Falling to the ground with a rather audible thud, Shin grimaced as gingerly rubbed his backside. Looking at the man who opened the door, a rather wiry man garbed in brazen robes, Shin was met once more with that familiar look of disgust and belittlement.

The man placed a flattened hand against his breast as he bent at the waist slightly, gesturing towards a carriage that rested beside him. Another man walked out, wearing bright, yet simple, robes. Shin caught the noble's eye as the man prepared himself to enter his ride before stopping himself; making his way towards the fallen Sacaen, the Etrurian offered a hand and an apologetic look.

"My apologies for my man. He's a rather...straightforward in his actions."

Surprised by this unexpected act of kindness, Shin merely nodded as he took the man's hand and rose to his feet. The nomad noted that the servant bristled behind his lord, hard eyes narrowing at the foreigner. "I've endured harsher bumps while riding. It's no issue."

The man smiled thinly, purple eyes glancing downward towards Shin's chest before meeting his eyes once more. Shin noted, for the first time, how oddly colored the man's hair was. "I see that you hail from the plains of Sacae."

Shin nodded once more, "yes. I am Shin of Kutolah clan."

"The Kutolah?" The purple haired man smiled wider, "I once knew a man of the Kutolah. Two, in fact."

"Is that so?"

"Ah," the noble shook his head, "where are my manners? I am Erk, Count of Caerleon. What causes you to journey this far from the plains, Shin?"

The nomad raised an eyebrow inwardly. How odd it was for a noble - an Etrurian one at that - to be so informal and casual with a Sacaen. "I am trying to track the granddaughter of our chieftain."

"The chieftain's granddaughter?" Count Caerleon paused for a moment, "would this granddaughter happen to be the daughter of Lyndis and Rath?"

Shin didn't hide the surprise form his face as he raised an eyebrow. This noble was interesting indeed. "How did you..?"

"A noble I may be, but I knew many people outside of the courts...and consider them my closest friends." A look of momentary sadness passed over his face before another small smile, "still, to know that there are those who still care for the blood of Lyndis...it does my heart good in these rather bleak times."

Erk continued, "how long have you been searching Etruria for?"

The Sacaen tugged softly on his horse's reins to keep the animal from getting nosy, "it has been a little over a fortnight. I've steadily made my way north from Lycia."

"Lyndis was beloved in Lycia - it would make sense for her daughter to seek sanctuary there."

Shin nodded, "I thought that as well. However, one of the Lycian stewards told me that she had headed north towards Etruria. The steward of Thria, if I recall correctly."

A frown settled on Erk's face. As a high ranking member of the courts, he was privy to the information that was beginning to leak out from the incident in Lycia. Among what little was known was the betrayal of Laus and the murder of Marquis Thria at the hands of his most trusted servant. Erk had been in politics long enough that the man had likely deceived poor Shin. "I fear that you may have been tricked, my friend. No lord of Lycia would have ever allowed Lyndis' daughter to leave Lycia without a contingent of guards. I think the Thrian steward deceived you."

A frown, "he must have held something to hide...I must be off. Lady Sue must be in danger."

Erk held a hand up in the air, "fear not, the steward of Thria was killed...by the son of Marquis Thria no less. If your Lady Sue was indeed in Thria, she is in good hands now. Nonetheless, I understand your haste; however, it would do my heart good to stock your supplies and fill you and your horse's bellies before setting you off. If that is alright with you, of course."

In what seemed to be a common action this afternoon, Shin nodded once more. This count had supplied him with direction and information - why not grant his request? "I would be honored, Count."

Erk nodded to his servant as he hopped into the carriage finally. "Follow us on your horse then, Shin. I was just in town to buy some of the greatest treats. It would be a pleasure to share them before you head back towards Lycia."

* * *

><p>A small screech from behind caused Roy to duck instinctively, his hand covering his head as he did so. Feeling a bit foolish as he watched his father stare passively ahead, the Pheraen heir looked towards his left where he saw, to some small relief, that Lilina had reacted in a similar manner as he. Standing to full height again, he noticed that his father was smiling softly at the two of them.<p>

"They're more scared of us then we are of them," shadows danced across Eliwood's face from the torchlight, "though, I can't say I didn't react in the same way the first time I came through here."

"When was that, Uncle Eliwood?"

Eliwood smiled and resumed his pace, "many years ago. I trust that Hector told you about the Campaign of Fire, yes?"

Lilina nodded, blue hair bobbing, "yes. I didn't believe him for a long time, but after Matthew and Sir Oswin confirmed his tales, I knew they were true. Sir Oswin would never lie to me."

"That he wouldn't," Eliwood chuckled softly, the noise echoing, "however, I know I've never told Roy about this and I doubt Hector told you either. At least, not considering that I'm around, along with some of our other old comrades."

"During our travels, our nemesis' powers were so great and grew so powerful that we were forced to search for weapons more powerful than his own. To that extent, we were helped by an extraordinarily powerful and legendary ally."

"Who was that, Father?"

"One of the Eight Legends - the Archsage Athos himself."

"Impossible," Lilina shook her head slightly, "he would have been nearly a thousand years old at that point!"

"Oh it's very possible, I can promise you that. Magic, my dear, has odd properties - ones that you may experience during your lifetime." Eliwood looked over his shoulder at the two teens. "The Archsage and our enemy, Nergal, both discovered magic that allowed them to live far beyond their natural years - along with another Legend, Bramimond. The three of them lived far beyond what we should be capable of."

"Was that magic the reason Nergal posed such a threat to you and Father?"

Eliwood nodded, "very astute Lilina. Yes, Nergal held mastery over all three forms of magic, as well as mastery of healing spells. He also held an immense knowledge of curses, summoning spells, and other arcane arts. To say he was a dangerous foe would be..." Eliwood paused, "an understatement."

"Even so, wouldn't the Archsage and Bramimond be able to defeat him?" Roy looked at his father as the hall they traveled down gave way to a wide room. "After all, they were two of the Eight Legends."

"As amazing as it is, Nergal's power eventually grew to equal the Archsage's. Although the combined power of Bramimond and Athos likely would have been able to defeat Nergal, Bramimond was...less than helpful until the final moments."

Lilina glanced at Marquis Pherae with a perplexed look, "why would Bramimond not be willing to battle Nergal? Father hasn't told me about the Archsage or Bramimond but he did tell me that Nergal wished to release the dragons back into Elibe."

Eliwood sighed, "Bramimond isn't called the Enigma for nothing. In order to wield great power during The Scouring, he gave up his soul. In essence, everything that made him human. When we visited and talked to him...it was like a mirror. To every person in the room, he looked similar to them. When I looked upon him, he looked like me. When Hector did, he looked like Hector. Same with Lyndis and Mark."

Eliwood walked through an arch before stopping and turning towards the teens. "As such, because he lost his humanity, he cared not what happened to the humans. In hindsight, his words...reveal much about what is happening currently."

"What do you mean, Father?"

Eliwood looked towards Roy before shaking his head as if emerging from a trance. "Nothing, son. Just thinking. Regardless, even though Bramimond personally did not assist us, he did unseal the very items we are retrieving now."

"Where are we, anyways?"

"We," Eliwood held up the stone from before as it shone with a brilliant blue light like before. As if on command, magical braziers came to life all before them; the light filled the room and dispelled the darkness, revealing an expansive chamber. Simple in that nothing material resided within, it still held a certain elegance. "Are in the crypt of King Roland."

Lilina and Roy looked around them breathlessly, captivated and shocked by what was revealed. Shaking her head with disbelief, Lilina turned towards her unofficial uncle. "H-How?" She asked breathlessly. "King Roland was said to be buried beneath Ostia in the Royal Crypts..."

Eliwood chuckled at the startled reactions of his younger companions. "All fabricated by the Lords of Ostia in order to contain and hide what we're really here for. Also to ensure that his body wasn't desecrated by bandits."

The small party walked towards the front of the room where a large altar awaited. Small statuettes lined the walkway, their swords pointed towards the altar itself. Around him, Roy noticed that many of the statues seemed to be broken or that there were crumbled bits of stone strewn about; Roy noted that many of them seemed to be entire arms, legs, or heads, as if they were intentionally removed. As they continued up the aisle, Roy's attention was drawn towards the altar. As if magically attracted to it by an unknown force, Roy followed his father towards it, Lilina close by his side.

"This, children, is the fruit of our forefathers' labors. And this is Lycia's greatest weapon."

Laying a hand on the altar, Eliwood closed his eyes and murmured softly to himself before exhaling audibly. The sound of metal on stone was heard as Roy stood a few feet away, involuntarily stepping forward with interest. Turning towards the two, Eliwood held a large sword in his hands, a soft smile on his face. Roy and Lilina's eyes widened as they recognized the magnificent blade that rested before them.

"Is...is that...?"

"Yes," Eliwood nodded, "this is the Blazing Sword...Durandal!"

Holding it in one hand upright, Eliwood looked up towards the blade. To Roy, it was a thing of splendor; a legend in its own right, Durandal was a weapon only spoken of in desire and admiration. Said to possess no equal besides its brethren, Durandal was said to possess the might of dragons and the ferocity of a raging fire. As he looked upon the glimmering blade, Roy felt an aura exude from the metal - an aura that calmed yet strengthened him. Glancing sideways towards Lilina, he saw the same admiration and awe that he felt at that moment.

"It may be a bit heavy for you Lilina," Eliwood said after a moment, stepping down towards the pair, "but would you like to hold it Roy?"

The boy gulped, "you're serious?"

Eliwood nodded, "of course, son. Go on - hold our birthright."

Grabbing hold of the hilt, Roy felt the immense weight of the sword immediately. Although a divine weapon of unimaginable strength, it was still made of metal and, as such, possessed the weight of it as well. Nonetheless, as he held it in his hands, he couldn't help but feel amazed by both the balance and sturdiness of the blade; even though it had a considerable weight to it, Roy felt as though the weapon made him feel stronger and, as such, able to swing the weapon with even greater force than he would normally be able to even with its significant weight. As he brought his other hand to the hilt, just above the pommel, a bright light flashed in Roy's mind. He could feel himself falling before darkness met him.

* * *

><p><em>Eliwood held the sword high, a small smile on his face as his friends looked at it with admiration. Armads strapped across his back, Hector released a low whistle as his eyes followed the length of the blade. To his left, Lyn released a silent word of amazement as Eliwood held the weapon before them. <em>

_"Even amongst weapons of this age," Athos smiled and walked forward, "Durandal and Armads are weapons to be admired and feared. To house the extraordinary power contained in all of the weapons, they were all crafted larger and with superior metal and blessed with superior magic just to contain the remarkable energy we created within them."_

_"So this is the legendary blade..." Hector shook his head as he rested his balled fists on his hips._

_"Durandal, the sword of sacred fire." Lyn mimicked the action of the Ostian lord, "...It's strange, isn't it? I've never seen it before, yet it feels so familiar..."_

_"As well it should," Athos gestured with a hand towards the sword in Eliwood's hand, "as the Children of Roland, you are all born with the inherent desire, ability, and gift for Durandal. As his descendents, it is your birthright. Though none have wielded Durandal since him, Roland's blade is to be wielded by you...or those you desire to wield it."_

_Eliwood shook his head as he rested it on his shoulder. "It's odd. The blade is so heavy yet, with it, I feel stronger. Like I can slay any opponent with it."_

_"I feel the same," Hector nodded, "like I'm impregnable. Like nothing could harm me or cause me to falter."_

_Athos smiled, "you are feeling the blessings and power of those weapons. Although their power now is a mere fraction of what they used to be, they still possess tremendous might."_

_Eliwood looked towards the blade, "I will use this to battle Nergal. Come now! We must go to Ostia first - Mark and the army should be there soon. And then after...the Dragon's Gate! We must...what?" The Pheraen held the blade before him, where it glowed a faint white, "the sword...it's glowing...something's coming!"_

_A bright light shone then before a monstrous form sat before them. With wide eyes, the four companions looked with horror as a large teal and white dragon stood before them. Looking down at them with yellow eyes, the monster roared into the air before stepping toward them._

_Eliwood held Durandal at his side in shock, "it can't be..."_

_"It's a...dragon!" _

_"No!" Hector shook his head in disbelief and terror at the beast that lay before them, "how is it possible!?"_

_The sword shone once more as Eliwood brought it up to his side, "what is going on? My body..." _

_As Eliwood charged towards the dragon, Hector reached out to stop him, his hand falling short and grasping nothing but air. "Eliwood! Stop! What are you doing!?"_

_Eliwood made no reply as his body marched forward, sword held off to his right. Yelling in both fervor and fear, Eliwood's arm flashed out before him as he came close to the dragon. Although the dragon made, interestingly enough, no move to attack, Durandal flashed once to the left in an arc of blood. Rocketing upward, the sword before the Pheraen lord dashed behind the dragon, his sword cutting along the entire length of the beast's body. The dragon fell as Eliwood stood still, panting heavily from the movements; Hector, Lyn, and Athos rushed to his side, concern on their faces._

_"Eliwood!" Hector yelled as he came near, "are you all right?"_

_The redhead nodded, dumbfounded. "I think so...my body moved on its own. It was as if the sword was guiding it."_

_"The sword of sacred fire was meant to combat and fight dragons," Athos spoke, "with so much power, who can say what it is capable of? But this ice dragon..." Athos' voice hitched as his eyes narrowed, "surely..."_

_Eliwood turned towards the archsage, "is there something the matter, Lord Athos?"_

_Athos shook his head in shock, "no..."_

_"I believe," a voice sounded from behind them, "that I can be the one to answer that."_

_In shock and anger, Eliwood turned towards the voice. "Nergal, you blackheart!"_

_The druid chuckled as he summoned Nils to his side with a flick of his wrist, "Ninian proved rather...useless. I've come for a replacement."_

_Stopping as the unconscious boy fell to the ground, Eliwood reached out with one hand towards him. "Nils!"_

_"Don't waste your breath," Nergal spat, "he won't be awake for some time. Nils will do for me what Ninian would not."_

_Hector growled, "you blackhearted fiend! What have you done with Ninian?"_

_"Hahaha! It's not what I've done, Hector of Ostia," Nergal pointed a crooked finger towards Eliwood, "it's what you've done, Eliwood."_

_"What?"_

_"Eliwood," Nergal grinned wickedly, "why did you never question it? Why I pursued Ninian and Nils? Why was it they who could only open the Dragon's Gate? A portal that can only be opened by dragons?" Eliwood remained silent as Nergal continued. "The answer is simple. Those two aren't human."_

_Eliwood looked at the druid blankly, "what are you saying?"_

_Nergal chuckled once more, "it's pitiful and pathetic, really. Poor Ninian, coaxed by my honeyed words...lulled into passing through the gate, she emerged, without any way of returning home. All lost and alone, with the exception of her brother, she was hunted down before she was received by a man that loved her...and then was slain by his own hand."_

_"What...what are you saying?"_

_"Can you not guess, Sacaen? Surely, it is not hard to guess. Your father required no sort of assistance - he deduced what they were almost immediately. I guess you have a ways until you reach his intelligence," Nergal sighed dramatically, "very well, I will tell you, Eliwood. The dragon there, the beast you have just slain...that is the girl you loved. The one you swore to protect. That is Ninian, returned to her true form and devoid of all memory!" Nergal stretched his arms out with a disturbing smile, "yet above all, your image remained in her soul and she came to you for you to help her...and you struck her down with your own hand! What a glorious ironic fate! Ninian came to you to save her...and you're the one who killed her!"_

_"No," Eliwood shook his head, "no, no that isn't true!"_

_Nergal emitted that foul laugh once more, "go on, look for yourself! Even now, she is using the last of her strength to revert back to her true form!" The dark druid tugged at his beard, "I do believe you'll have enough time to say your farewells. Afterward, I'm sure you'll be able to appreciate the devastation Durandal can inflict upon flesh and bone."_

_"I...I..." Eliwood turned and stumbled towards the fallen body, which was changing shape, just as Nergal claimed. "Nergal! You despicable demon!"_

_"It wasn't I, Eliwood," Nergal smiled once again as Hector growled in immense anger, "you were the one to deal the final blow."_

_"No...no...aaaaaahhh!"_

_"Eliwood," Lyn reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder._

_"I...I..." _

_The shape before him shined a light before a prone girl lay before him. Doused in her own lifeblood, the girl reached up weakly towards the Pherean lord; hooking his arms under her back and head, Eliwood brought Ninian close to him as blood poured forth from the wounds on her body. _

_"L-Lor...Lord Eliwood..." Ninian touched his face lightly, her hand smearing blood across his cheek, "y-you are...not injured..."_

_"N-Ninian..." Eliwood held her close, "I..."_

_"I'm...s-so happy to...to see you...I w-was so afraid t-that I...that I wouldn't..."_

_"Ninian," tears began to sprout in his eyes as he held the dying girl in his arms. "What have I done? I am so sorry...Ninian..."_

_The teal haired girl smiled weakly, "it's al-alright, Eliwood...you didn't do anything wrong...you m-must protect...protect this land..."_

_"Ah God...please Ninian, you can't die! There's so much I have to tell you," Eliwood shook his head as tears fell onto her face, "so much I have to show you! So much we have to do together!"_

_"El-Eliwood...I...I..."_

_The girl fell limp in his arms then, her eyes shutting as her chest stopped rising. Shaking his head in terror, Eliwood could hear the sounds of battle being waged between Athos and Nergal. Uncaring, uninterested, Eliwood stared at Ninian's lifeless face as his breath caught in his throat. _

_"No...no no no no! Ninian! Ninian!"_

* * *

><p>Roy sat up and gasped, breathing heavily as he looked around him. Recognizing the dim orange light from the fires from the crypt, Roy noticed that his father and Lilina looked at him with a great amount of concern to his right. Shaking his now-pounding head, Roy groaned and stood to his feet.<p>

"Ugh...what happened?"

"Roy!" Lilina, visibly shaken, hurried to his side. "You j-just fell over! You hit your head on the way down!"

"I was getting ready to head towards Marcus and the others to get help," Eliwood looked at his son with concern, "are you okay?"

Blinking heavily, Roy rubbed his head to check for any cuts or bleeding. Though a nasty bump was already beginning to form on the back of his skull, he felt fine, other than the pounding in his head. "Yeah...ah. My head hurts but it's just a headache. What happened to the sword?"

Eliwood looked to the side, where it lay on a stone railway. "Right there. Are you sure you're okay Roy?"

"Yeah...is that all we needed to get, Father?"

Eliwood looked blankly at his son for a moment before nodding, "yes. Yes, that was everything. Come now, we should get your head looked at. Lilina," the girl looked towards the older man, her face still white from shock, "if you wouldn't mind holding my torch for me? The sword is kind of heavy. Roy," the boy looked up, "we can put your torch out if it hurts your eyes."

"No," he shook his head, "no, it's fine."

As they made their way back towards the outside world, Eliwood made sure to use the magical artifact from before to darken the magical torches. Walking back through the stone hallways, Roy couldn't help but think of the events he had witnessed.

_'What was that? Was it just my imagination?' _He thought as he stared at the fire in his hands, _'no, no, it couldn't have been. Father, Mother, and Lord Hector were all in it. As was Athos - I couldn't have known what he and Nergal looked like. Could it be, then, that I was looking at the memories of the sword? Were those Father's memories?'_

As they made their way through the cave, Roy though about exactly what it was he saw. Though he had heard about the Campaign of Fire, it was only now that he knew about the Archsage or Durandal; if Eliwood and Hector had hid such details from them about those things, wouldn't it make sense that they would hide the fact that his mother was a dragon? Or that his father had killed her? Roy needed to ask his father what if it had truly happen - and he wasn't so sure he wanted to know the answer.

* * *

><p><em>Ah, how good it feels to update once again! I hit a rather serious case of writer's block while writing Fir and Shin's segment, so I apologize if those are of poorer quality than I normally release. However, it's important to hit a groove, and I managed to get into one with the last major segment of the chapter. Hopefully, that transitions to the next chapter.<em>

_Read and review! Hope you all enjoyed!_


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